


The Night Is Long, Play On Boy

by eggsootart



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Baekhyun-centric, Coming of Age, Drama, Found Family, Internalized Homophobia, Jazz Group, M/M, Police Brutality, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, everyone is a jazz nerd, minseoks name makes me so sad now, some jongdae/heize, then it suddenly gets devastating, this is mostly feel good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsootart/pseuds/eggsootart
Summary: It’s 1974, and in his 18 years of living, Byun Baekhyun has never had a place where he truly belongs—and now that he’s finally found it, he’ll be damned if he ever lets it slip away.





	1. Ragtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So, this happened.
> 
> First I guess I'd like to say that this story takes place in 1970s South Korea, during the Fourth Republic. It was a time of continued student revolts and police crackdowns that would eventually climax with the Gwangju Uprising in 1980.
> 
> I did my best to research in order to do this properly, but there will most likely be inaccuracies. Everything I’ve found about this time period is from internet deep diving (and from stories/mini history lessons from my parents, lol) so if you find some horrible glaring errors, I apologize! But this is fiction so I hope any mistakes won’t detract too much from the storyline.
> 
> With that out of the way… welcome to an AU that has become my most precious son. I took inspiration from every jazz movie/show I've seen and just wanted to make a story about music. And a found family! And xiubaek.
> 
> At the time that I post this, the first two parts are done and the third is nearly there, so hopefully this motivates me to finish? I don't think this is anything remarkable, but if you choose to read, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Really… Thank you!!

The day after his arrival in Seoul, Baekhyun goes by himself to the cinema. The movie he sees is nothing remarkable, the plot thin, the production questionable, the title something generic that he probably won’t even remember in a few years—but with the tightening grip over the film industry these days, that isn’t surprising. Companies have just been churning out crappy film after crappy film, desperate to meet the production quota, hoping to be granted the permission to show those big-budget blockbusters from the west.

 

Besides him, there’s only a couple other people in this big, empty theater. And from the looks of this discount action flick that’s made even more pathetic by its lack of an audience, he can see why. With line after line of cringey dialogue that makes him almost laugh during what he thinks are supposed to be serious moments, he begins to wonder if a kid wrote the screenplay. Baekhyun knows this must be nothing compared to the riveting, sensational art of American Hollywood that he’s heard so much about. For a while now, he’s wanted to watch just one of those films with his own eyes.

 

But there are only so few days a year that those foreign films are screened, and each time one of those days arrives, it seems like Baekhyun loses the opportunity to catch it before he even knew it existed. He always takes it with complacence, convincing himself that he’ll go next time, that it’s bound to happen, any day now. Yet the more he tells himself there will be another chance, the more time that passes, and subsequently, the more he begins to feel that he’s waited too long, built his expectations to be larger than the confines of reality.

 

This pendulum that swings to and fro between blind anticipation and the fear of disappointment is something Baekhyun hangs onto, more often than he realizes. Growing up, he has had a lot of things withheld from him, be it people or experiences, and was left to imagine. Imagine, envision, and dream. He dreams of having all of the answers, of a life where he doesn’t have to reinvent himself.

 

And the thing that he dreams of the most, in an imaginary world where he is nothing less than a king, is a family. It’s a dream that’s withered as he’s grown older into a somewhat jaded adolescent, but has never fully died.

 

Miraculously in the spring of 1974, right as the flame of this desire has diminished to a dim glow and as Baekhyun begins to give up hope, he finds what he’s been looking for. And while it’s not perfect, nor is it anything like he’s expected it to be, he is nowhere near disappointed.

 

**⋯**

 

With how big the Bae household is, Baekhyun at first thought he was taken in to fill in some of the empty space. That perhaps he was wanted here to help make the long days feel less lonely, the quiet halls more lively. But with the way his aunt regards him with little more than tolerance, he sees that, once again, his staying here was most likely a choice met with reluctance, or made simply out of moral obligation.

 

“Baekhyun,” Joohyun says over her shoulder, directing a sweet smile towards Baekhyun. “Do you want a fried egg?”

 

Baekhyun looks up from his breakfast, before giving a small shake of his head. “That’s alright, Joohyun-noona.” He casts his gaze across the house, as if to make sure Joohyun’s mother isn’t within hearing range. “I know it’s expensive.”

 

Joohyun clicks her tongue as she walks over to the table with her frying pan in hand, before sliding a crackling fried egg into Baekhyun’s bowl. “You better not say that in front of my mom, she’ll think you’re insulting us.”

 

Baekhyun knows. He bows his head a little, reservedly. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re so stiff. This is your home now, you know.” Joohyun gives a wry little smile, before taking a seat across the glass tabletop from Baekhyun. Her face then lights up with an idea. “If money’s your concern, why don’t you repay me with a song on the piano? I heard you’re really good.”

 

The question strikes Baekhyun a surprise, and he tears his eyes off of the way the yolk spills yellow onto his rice after piercing it with his chopsticks. He blinks at Joohyun, before uttering, “Now?”

 

“No, silly,” Joohyun laughs, leaning back in her chair, “eat first.” Baekhyun slowly nods, picking his chopsticks back up and making sure to eat quickly and not keep her waiting. They don’t talk much for the duration of breakfast, with Joohyun asking rudimentary questions that Baekhyun is able to answer with three words or less, until Baekhyun finishes and stands up from his chair.

 

“Do you still want me to play?” Baekhyun asks, to which Joohyun beams. Instead of replying in words, she nods and gestures over to the upright piano sitting in the corner of the parlor, and Baekhyun obediently shuffles over.

 

Before he opens the lid, he glides his fingertips across its glossy finish, as if to introduce himself to the instrument to his touch. He would only admit to Joohyun years later that he was overwhelmingly relieved by her request. He’s wanted to play this piano the moment he had moved in but restrained himself, not wanting to be rude, touching something that wasn’t his.

 

Lifting up the lid reveals an expanse of black and white keys that stare back up at Baekhyun, an at first brooding stare that slowly becomes kinder, more welcoming, when he sits down at the bench. He pushes down on each one of the pedals, before gingerly raising his hands to ever so lightly, place his fingertips on B flat, F, and C.

 

Breathe in. Lean forward. Breathe Out.

 

Play.

 

The sound of descending notes on a minor scale fill the room, and resonate across the hardwood floors. Baekhyun soon finds the one good thing about the near silence in this house, and it’s the way that the sound of the piano shines light on every forgotten corner, between the floorboards, through the stale air. Through this sound, Baekhyun feels, for the first time since he’s stepped off the noisy Gyeongbu rails and into this overcrowded, even noisier metropolis, at peace.

 

By the time he finishes, he’s almost forgotten that Joohyun has been listening intently, being brought back to earth by the sound of her clapping from behind him. He shifts his position on the bench to see her smiling brightly. She’s a beautiful woman, Baekhyun thinks to himself, although this isn’t a new discovery. He’s been wondering for the past week, how much of her sweetness is attributed to her looks, what feelings she could possibly feel below her exterior. How much of her kindness towards him is just a mere formality.

 

“That was beautiful, Baekhyun,” Joohyun praises, making Baekhyun smile and shake his head, modestly. “Was that Chopin?”

 

“Yeah.” Baekhyun pauses to look back at the piano almost wistfully. “You like piano music, Joohyun-noona?”

 

“Oh, I stopped playing ages ago,” says Joohyun with a dismissive wave of her hand. “When I was younger than you. And even then, I was nowhere near as good as you are.”

 

Baekhyun is about to reply, when he hears someone coming down the stairs, followed by footsteps into the living room. As an automatic reaction, he shuts the lid back over the keyboard and stands up.

 

“Baekhyun, shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to school?” His aunt says it more as a statement rather than a question, peering over at him from the entryway, then over to his dishes left on the table from breakfast. “And playing piano before you clean up after yourself, too. Joohyun is a resident here, not a servant.”

 

“Mom, don’t be like that,” Joohyun says good-naturedly before Baekhyun can apologize, “I asked him to play for me. Doesn’t he play beautifully?” Joohyun turns to Baekhyun, “Thank you. And you can play it whenever you want, okay? Don't be shy.”

 

Feeling like he’s earned a privilege he doesn’t quite deserve yet, Baekhyun glances over to his aunt, who eventually closes her eyes before heading into the kitchen, giving her silent approval. He can’t help but break into a smile.

 

After helping Joohyun clear the table, he grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before he gives a polite bow towards Joohyun and his aunt. “I’ll be on my way.”

 

“Have a good day,” Joohyun calls, tucking the loose strands that have fallen out of her ponytail behind her ears. “You’ve taken the bus already, right? The school’s a little past the movie theater.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Baekhyun says in lack of anything better, unnaccustomed to how involved Joohyun is being. But it’s not a bad thing, and he gives her a smile, which prompts her to smile back. “Thanks. Have a nice day, Noona.”

 

Everything in Seoul is packed, Baekhyun thinks. The bus is crammed full of people, from businessmen to students, with not an inch of space around Baekhyun that isn’t occupied by a body. When he looks outside the windows, all the houses, apartments, and stores are bunched tightly together in blocks of concrete that look like they’re about to spill over the sidewalks that act as their boundary. Even the sky is full of clotheslines and wires, looking like a trap for poor birds in the way that a spider’s web traps flies. Baekhyun, too, feels trapped when he looks at it.

 

When he gets to his school, it’s not much different; while it’s still early and students aren’t in a rush to get to their classrooms quite yet, the school yard is teeming with teenagers chattering amongst themselves. Amongst the talk, however, there is a sound that begins to stick out to Baekhyun, an incessant tapping that taunts his ears. He glances to his right where the noise is coming from, and sees a boy sitting at the edge of a planter, legs crossed so his right ankle rests on his left thigh. The boy holds two pencils, one in each hand, that he’s beating against the side of his tattered shoe.

 

But upon listening for a few seconds more, Baekhyun sees that _beating_ doesn’t seem to be the right word. There’s a strange method to it, a rhythm, prominent enough that he can tell its existence is not just a coincidence. It’s in this moment that the boy looks up, an innocent, unassuming look on his face, and he and Baekhyun meet eyes. Baekhyun immediately tears his gaze off of the boy and his musical pencils and keeps walking, feigning ignorance.

 

He forgets about that boy almost as quickly as he acknowledged his presence, and goes through the rest of his day without obstacles. For once he’s grateful for the fact that everything is so crowded in Seoul, including his public school. His new beginnings at new schools have usually been in the countryside, in tiny villages where everyone knew everyone else, where an unfamiliar face stuck out as if it were something alien. But here, he blends in. And he thinks he can grow used to it.

 

On his way home, he gets off a few stops early so he can look at the marquee hanging above the movie theater. He scans the board for any American blockbusters, but as usual, there’s nothing—as has been the trend, for as long as he can remember. With increasing censorship and the stagnant quality of the films being released domestically, people would rather stay home and watch the T.V. With a small sigh, Baekhyun deems it a lost cause.

 

However, the day doesn’t end with disappointment, not quite yet. At the edge of the road, sit a few run-down buildings, all connected by a faded veranda. Settled between the laundromat and the bakery, right outside a railway line, is a music shop.

 

Saddled under a washed-out, mint-colored canopy that reads ‘Chungmuro Music,’ Baekhyun’s attention is immediately grabbed.

 

Instantly, he recalls Joohyun’s words from this morning, granting him permission to play the piano whenever he wants. Even before the joy of remembering it settles in, he’s walking inside the shop with an assertiveness to his step, a small bell hanging over the door frame ringing to announce his arrival. The first thing he sees, beyond shelves of records and music books, is the young clerk standing behind the counter with a kind look on his face.

 

“Welcome,” the shopkeeper says with a sweet smile that reminds Baekhyun of Joohyun’s. That pure, saccharine sort of smile. Baekhyun greets him back with a nod, before migrating towards the shelves of piano sheet music.

 

He finds a book of Chopin’s Nocturnes, flipping through the pages and staring hard at the score. Holding the booklet in one hand, he maneuvers the fingers on the other, trying to incorporate the notes on the page into his muscle memory. He has no pocket money to buy anything, so for the time being, this would have to do.

 

It’s mainly empty in the shop, save for a few people who are looking at records and others who are fooling around with the instruments on display. Baekhyun goes off into his own little world, his eyes about to burn a hole into the pages when all of a sudden, there’s an interruption.

 

The door swings open, the bell chimes, followed by a shout of, “Hey, Junmyeon!”

 

It’s an enthusiastic voice that booms through the originally quiet store, so Baekhyun naturally looks up. And he’s taken aback to see that it’s none other than the boy he saw on the schoolyard this morning, who was drumming on his dirty trainers with his pencils.

 

The man running the store chirps back, “Hello, Chanyeol!”

 

The boy who’s apparently named Chanyeol begins taking off his bag, looking around the store. “Slow day, today?” He pauses when his eyes land on Baekhyun, who realizes that, for some reason, he’s still staring back. “Hey, don’t you go to my school?”

 

As if this kid could be talking to anyone else, Baekhyun glances around him. When he looks back forward about a second later, Chanyeol is already much closer, trudging towards him with wide strides of long legs. Soon Chanyeol is right up in Baekhyun’s face, all messy dark hair and big, curious eyes. He grins wide, tilts his head. “You do! Suji, right?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Baekhyun replies, closing the book he was studying and holding it by his side. He holds out a hand, “I’m Byun Baekhyun.”

 

“Park Chanyeol!” Chanyeol heartily claps his hand into Baekhyun’s and shakes generously, so generously that Baekhyun almost feels like he’s being yanked around. Without letting go of Baekhyun’s hand, Chanyeol asks, “Do you come here, often? I’ve never seen you.”

 

“Nope, this is my first time.” Baekhyun is about to explain that he was just here to look at sheet music, but Chanyeol is already one step ahead of him, taking notice of the book in his other hand.

 

“Wait, you play piano?” Chanyeol’s eyes are even wider now.

 

"That I do," Baekhyun nods. Chanyeol grins a grin so wide that Baekhyun almost feels the urge to measure how long it stretches.

 

"You any good?"

 

"Uhh," Baekhyun stalls, unsure of how to really respond to that. He gives a haphazard shrug, "I'm okay, I guess."

 

Everything after that is a blur: one moment, Baekhyun is still standing upright, having a conversation like a normal person—the next, Chanyeol is _actually_ yanking him, straight to the back of the shop. Baekhyun bewilderedly looks around as Chanyeol clumsily pulls him beyond the counter where the shopkeeper is still standing, _still_ smiling, as if this is normal. He isn’t even able to say his goodbyes to his little haven before Chanyeol is busting open a door that looks very off-limits, and all but throwing Baekhyun inside.

 

What greets Baekhyun is a dimly lit storage room, and before he can even process it, Chanyeol continues to drag him down a small staircase while gleefully declaring, “You’re coming with me!”

 

"Yeah, it looks like it!" Baekhyun can only say back as he's forcefully pulled along, almost scared for his life, at this point.

 

After their shoes pound down the stairs and they burst through the door that waits at the bottom at breakneck speed, Chanyeol finally lets go of Baekhyun’s arm, signaling to Baekhyun that, wherever their destination was, they’ve arrived. He’s already needing a moment to recover his balance from the abruptness of it all, but the journey here proves to be only the beginning as an onslaught of words and gestures soon fly past his eyes.

 

“Kyungsoo, Jongdae!” Chanyeol calls. Baekhyun looks around, and is painted surprised by what he sees. It’s what looks like another storage room, but instead of inventory it's almost completely cleared out, save for a drumset and a double bass in one corner, a piano in another, and two other boys, sitting on a sofa that sits on the far edge of the room. They look up, their expressions going from curious, to perplexed, to suspicious at the sight of Baekhyun.

 

One of the guys stands up, quirking up an eyebrow, skeptically. He looks Baekhyun up and down, and Baekhyun subtly does the same. He’s the only one in the room that’s not in a high school uniform, which makes Baekhyun assume he’s a little older. “Who’s this, Chanyeol, friend from school? We told you, you can’t just bring anyone down here.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Chanyeol says, “I brought him here to cover the piano!”

 

“Him?” The same guy snorts, taking out the pencil that was tucked behind his ear and pointing it at Baekhyun, “What makes him qualified to play with us?” His mouth curls into a cat-like smile, and Baekhyun can’t help but feel a bit provoked by the challenge.

 

The other boy in the room stands as well, and walks towards Baekhyun with a placid expression on his face. He’s not as readable, and Baekhyun can only stand there, suspended in time as he lets himself be studied. Finally, the boy pushes his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, before pointing out, “That music you have, it’s classical, isn’t it?”

 

“For real? Then he doesn’t belong with us.” The impish-looking boy crosses his arms before proudly stating, “It’s jazz only, here.”

 

“But Jongdae,” Chanyeol pokes out his lower lip, thoughtfully, “we’ve needed a replacement ever since Junmyeon got busy.”

 

The boy with the glasses places a hand on his chin, before deliberating, “It _is_ empty without a pianist.”

 

 _“I'll_ play the piano.”

 

“If it’s not the sax, you can't play for shit, Jongdae.”

 

_“Hey.”_

 

This whole exchange happens with Baekhyun right there to witness it, unsure of how to jump in, or if he even should. Part of him wants to tell the catty one that, frankly, he’s not interested in jazz to begin with. But the other part somewhat wants to see this through, so he opts to just listen with a furrow in his brow as the other three go into a rushed debate.

 

As if four wasn’t enough of a crowd in this tiny room, Baekhyun suddenly hears the faint noise of someone else coming down the steps.

 

“What’s it so noisy in here, for?”

 

Everyone is effectively hushed, and Baekhyun peers through the open door and up the staircase to see another young man, heading towards them. He also is not in a uniform, his clothes nondescript save for a black strap across his torso that, upon closer inspection, Baekhyun realizes is suspending a trumpet case off his shoulder. Once the newcomer is on ground level, he directs a quizzical look towards Baekhyun, his eyes sharp and lively. “This the new boy that Junmyeon mentioned on my way in?”

 

Chanyeol nods, “Yup, thought we could take him for a little test run. Baekhyun’s a pianist.”

 

“ _Classical_ pianist,” the one called Jongdae pipes up in clarification. Baekhyun’s automatic reaction is to give him an incredulous look.

 

“I see.” The newcomer sets down his case, before giving Baekhyun a welcoming little smile, something that Baekhyun feels like he could use, right now. “Baekhyun, is it? I’m Minseok. Have you played for a while?”

 

“Since I can remember,” Baekhyun replies. Minseok’s smile grows, becoming crooked so that it’s wider on his right side, and Baekhyun finds himself fixated on it.

 

“Take a seat.” Minseok gestures towards the piano bench, and when Baekhyun obeys, he walks across the room to a bookshelf in the corner. He crouches down, rubbing his chin and humming in contemplation, before finally pulling out a tattered book. He thumbs through the pages as he rejoins the group, eventually seeming to find something that satisfies him before holding the book out to Baekhyun.

 

“Jazz is a bit different than classical. Want to take a look at this?” Minseok asks. Baekhyun looks down at the page Minseok pulled for him, holding a song entitled “Caravan.” The others are studying him study it, Baekhyun realizes when he can sense them all hovering over him, crowding his space. “It doesn’t have to be exact, just as long as you got the chords. Look doable?”

 

“Don’t you think Caravan’s too hard for him,” Jongdae says, not really like a question but more like a statement of fact. It sort of grinds Baekhyun’s gears, and he finds himself speaking up before thinking.

 

“I can do it,” Baekhyun returns, making the boys around him look mildly surprised at the way he defends himself. Baekhyun isn’t dumb, he’s aware that too much pride can only result in him crashing and burning, and bites his cheek. “I, uh. I think. I know chords, and the scales in here look like they’re mostly mixolydian…”

 

It goes a bit quiet after that, and Baekhyun looks up to see all of them staring at him blankly. Finally, the silence is broken when Jongdae spouts, “The hell you just say?”

 

“None of us were trained like that,” Minseok says with a laugh, shaking his head. He’s now unclasping his case, opening it to reveal a beautiful Jean Paul trumpet, the brass glinting in the dingy lighting of the ceiling lamps. As he pushes on the mouthpiece to assemble the trumpet, the others seem to sort of disperse and undergo their own preparations, like Minseok has given a silent command. “All of us here know what we know either from Junmyeon’s old man, or from long nights of listening to records.”

 

“Self-taught?” Baekhyun murmurs to himself, feeling himself grow even more skeptical of whether or not this is worth his time. He watches Kyungsoo slide the contrabass into upright position, Chanyeol plop down into his seat at the drumset, and Jongdae strap on a saxophone that’s been lying on the sofa.

 

Right in front of Baekhyun, they get into position, the horns being blown into with quick bursts of air, a pedal tapping into the bass drum in earthy thumps and the strings of the bass being given a few rudimentary plucks, before Minseok looks up to once more flash that lopsided little smirk at Baekhyun.

 

“Hop in whenever,” Minseok says. Baekhyun’s eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, and is about to say something in protest or to stall, when Chanyeol raises his arms, one stick in each hand with mismatching grips, and smashes them down on his kit to set fire to a rampant solo.

 

It makes Baekhyun jump a little, and reflexively want to cover his ears from the thunder of the drums that soon fill the tiny studio rather deafeningly. Initially making a small face at the sheer volume, his disdain soon melts away in time, along with his perceived harshness of the drums. Soon the bassist joins in, giving the noise more definition, more shape, even moreso when flanked by the trumpet and the sax.

 

In tandem, the four of them crescendo until reaching a small plateau together, the sound shaking Baekhyun to his core in a way that's equal parts unorthodox, and oh-so satisfying. It’s a sort of chaos that sticks to the walls of his mind, making a wave of heat wash over his chest and leaving a sweet tang on the underside of his tongue. Mesmerized—perhaps that's the only word that can describe his state, right now.

 

“Now, Mozart!” Jongdae suddenly calls at him in the split second he takes his mouth off of his reed, waking Baekhyun up from his stupor. Baekhyun catches a glimpse of Minseok, the corner of his mouth upturning the slightest bit in between blaring notes on the trumpet, before his body suddenly goes into autopilot. He scoots over to be seated properly at the piano, propping up the music Minseok gave him onto the stand and rigidly positioning his hands.

 

His fingers grow stiff at the foreignness of playing with others, as Baekhyun grows acutely aware of the fact that throughout his life, he’s only ever played by himself. And for the first time, he feels like that might not have been a good thing; he used to think that it couldn’t be that different. Now, he realizes that it’s _completely_ different. Once he finally works up the nerve to press down on the keys, it releases a whole other onslaught of Firsts—the first time he isn’t able to hear himself over the lawless melodies of others, the first time he doesn’t know where to look, the first time he feels like _this._

 

What exactly  _this_ is, is what Baekhyun tries to put his finger on for the next few minutes, but is never really able to. There’s no time, anyway, not now. He struggles to keep up with the dissonant clusters of notes and the augmentations that stray from the order he’s accustomed to, only able to hit sporadic chords in an attempt to not get left behind by the others. He wonders to himself, why play jazz when it gets his heart so riled up and anxious, to the point he’s hanging on the edge of his seat, until he realizes that, perhaps, that _is_ why.

 

The entirety of the song is a montage of clumsy syncopations and the roar of cymbals, bass, trumpet and saxophone reverberating in his eardrums. He doesn’t know exactly when his jitteriness ended and a small bout of confidence seemingly took over—all he knows is that, by the end of it, as five voices argue good-naturedly for the last say in this tiny box of a room, he feels like he’s somehow lost himself. And when he was found again, there was something about him inexpressibly and ineffably changed.

 

“Well, what do you know,” Jongdae whistles after the final note that Baekhyun feels daring enough to add a trill to. “Not half bad.”

 

“A little rough around the edges,” Kyungsoo says with a nod, “but good.” Chanyeol is beaming at Baekhyun from his drumset, and Baekhyun feels all too validated by the praise of a bunch of strangers.

 

“For a first time, it was pretty impressive,” Minseok approves. He lowers his trumpet to his waist, and tilts his head at Baekhyun in a cute little manner that Baekhyun thinks kinda matches the rest of him. Baekhyun’s feeling of outward satisfaction has now deepened into something like mellow elation, like he can float, and Minseok can apparently tell. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself, too.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, not having thought about what he may have looked like. But he finds he doesn’t care, frankly, and breaks into a grin of his own. “Yeah. I was.”

 

“I’m glad.” Minseok gives a quick wink, before announcing, “If you’ll excuse us for a second, the four of us have to take a vote.”

 

Baekhyun returns to his more familiar feeling of bemusement when the four boys make a small huddle in the center of the room, only to break apart mere seconds later. It’s incredibly anticlimactic, in a comical, stupid sort of way that has Baekhyun holding in a huff of his breath.

 

“Welcome to our quartet,” Jongdae trills. “Or, our _quintet,_ now. I’m Kim Jongdae—the front man,” he flourishes, “singer and saxophone extraordinaire.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Baekhyun muses, seeing how a couple of the others roll their eyes at the title. He’s grateful to finally have some formal introductions, though, and tries to engrain this moment, this feeling and these faces into his memory. Because he feels like it’s all important.

 

“Do Kyungsoo. Bassist,” Kyungsoo adds, short and sweet, and to the point.

 

“Park Chanyeol! I’m on drums!” Chanyeol chitters.

 

“Kim Minseok,” Minseok finishes as a formality as he takes a seat on the couch. He jokingly holds up his instrument like an afterthought, “Trumpet. It’s up to you, but you’re free to come here and jam with us, whenever you want.”

 

It’s the second time today that Baekhyun is receiving an offer for something that he’s been secretly wanting to hear, yet this feels completely different. He’s being thrust into this clearly well-oiled machine out of the blue, and while he knows it’s smarter to say something more cautious, like he’ll see if he has the time, or that he’ll think about it, these words don’t find their way out of his mouth. Instead he finds himself breaking into a small chuckle at both how serendipitous this is, and at the clang of their jazz session that’s still clinging to his thoughts and almost making him feel dizzy, delirious.

 

“So, what’s your name again?” Jongdae asks. Baekhyun smiles.

 

“I’m Baekhyun, Byun Baekhyun,” he says over the race of his heartbeat, catching Minseok’s unclouded stare with his own. “I guess I’m on piano.”

 

The other four pick their instruments back up and do a small tune of victory at Baekhyun’s acceptance, and Baekhyun finds himself laughing genuinely.

 

He decides to head home shortly after, to start his homework and to not keep his caretakers waiting. Before he opens the door to trudge back up those stairs, Minseok approaches him one more time.

 

“You can relax. We don’t bite,” Minseok teases. Then, on a slightly more serious note, “And take care of your fingers. You play beautifully.”

 

The last bit is said in a low, almost whisper, as is Baekhyun’s demure reply of, “I will.”

 

For the rest of that day and even into the late hours of the night as Baekhyun lies awake in bed, there’s only one thing he can think of. It’s not just the feeling of unknowing at what exactly he’s gotten himself into, or the curiosity about these four boys and whatever miracle brought them together—it’s mainly the rumble of the music those four played, that remains painted in exuberant golds and reds all over his wan mind.

 

**⋯**

 

Starting after that day, Baekhyun begins to frequent the music store to join the group for casual jazz sessions. Being with them admittedly takes a bit of getting used to, things don't always go quite smoothly, yet there’s something about this peculiar little group that always convinces him to come back for the next meet-up.

 

“Stop,” Jongdae starts one evening when Baekhyun comes down into the cellar, holding up a hand. “What do you got, there, Mozart?”

 

Baekhyun is reluctant because he already knows what’s coming. He had shown up early today in the hopes that he’d be the first one here, and that he'd be able to practice out of some of the classical books Junmyeon had in stock. But unfortunately he found Jongdae had beaten him here, having already been warming up with hollow puffs of air into his sax. With a pang of regret, Baekhyun holds out a small stack of sonatas that Jongdae takes and inspects for a few seconds, before he gives them back and commands, “Leave ‘em outside.”

 

“But—”

 

“Outside!” Jongdae orders, and Baekhyun groans.

 

The guys don’t play anything but jazz, and that’s a rule. But the time Baekhyun spends in this store isn’t all devoted to playing—in fact, arguably more time is spent with the boys talking loudly amongst themselves, sitting around the record player and eating snacks. They drop honorifics with each other despite being a mixture of ages, they aren’t afraid to get crass and speak their minds. Baekhyun can only guess this comes from years of being together.

 

One day, after hours of all four of them breathing down Baekhyun's neck as he learns a few songs and lecturing to him about the fundamentals of jazz, he quietly practices by himself on the piano as the rest take a break. Like they're the ones who have been doing the work, he amusedly thinks to himself. His fingers ache from wearing himself down to the bone, both here and at his aunt’s house, and his temples are beginning to ring from the incessant clicking of Chanyeol’s sticks and the amount of times they’ve all shouted at Baekhyun to play with more feeling. With more _swing,_ as they say.

 

Delicately working out the melody of the new song he's learnt with one hand, he makes sure to be quiet enough to not be a nuisance while the others are talking to each other. He’s content with listening in on their conversations, not wanting to make things awkward, when Minseok calls, “Baekhyun, what are you doing? Get over here.”

 

Baekhyun looks up, his eyebrows raising to see that they’re all waiting for him at their little resting area, an extra foldable chair pulled up next to Minseok. Undeniably pleased by the gesture, he gets up from his seat in favor of the one being provided for him.

 

“So,” Kyungsoo says, placing a glass of water in front of Baekhyun, “is there any jazz you’re already familiar with?”

 

“Not really. Oh, I know Sinatra,” Baekhyun replies, taking notice of how several of them are wearing an ambiguous expression. “...You know, uh, Fly Me To The Mo—”

 

“We know,” Chanyeol pipes up, “everyone knows! He doesn’t count, he’s overrated.”

 

The rest nod in agreement, and Baekhyun suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, excuse me. Then, no, I don’t.”

 

“No Miles Davis? Coltrane?” Chanyeol and everyone else begin listing a bunch of foreign names that might as well go in through one of Baekhyun's ears and out the other. “ _Armstrong?”_

 

"Everything you've said means literally nothing to me," Baekhyun says, amused when he gets the reaction he knew he would get—which is Chanyeol gasping like Baekhyun just said something absolutely filthy about his mother. 

 

“I guess we can’t blame you,” Jongdae relents after Baekhyun shakes his head for the nth time, shrugging his shoulders before letting out a dramatic sigh. “All people care about anymore is rock and roll.”

 

“Even when the government’s been banning it faster than they can play their fancy guitars,” Kyungsoo clips. “But, jazz has been dying for a long time, even before all these rules happened.”

 

Baekhyun’s about to say he isn’t sure if jazz ever even lived, at least in the lifetime of anyone currently sitting here, before deciding to spare their hearts. Instead he asks, “Why do you guys even play?”

 

“Am I hearing things, or are you judging us?” Minseok chuckles, glancing at Baekhyun curiously.

 

"I've _been_  judging you, thanks so much for noticing," Baekhyun retorts, earning a wider smirk from Minseok.

 

“Well, why do _you_  play, with us?”

 

Baekhyun pauses mid-sip of water, and realizes that he’s never really thought about it. He knows there’s something about his choosing to come here every other day, play some notes that lay neatly on paper but slanted and oblique in the air, and talk bullshit with these guys for a few hours until it's time to go home, that probably means that in some way, he enjoys it. But for now he settles on answering with, “I mean, I was just roped into this, but what else am I gonna do with my day, I guess. And I’ve never been the biggest fan of rock, anyway.” He pauses, thinks about his cousin's asshole of a boyfriend who always seemed to pull up to the house playing his Pink Floyd tapes while Baekhyun was coming home from school, just in time to shout some insult disguised as a greeting at him. Or, just the insult outright. Before he not so gracefully finishes with, “Fuck that noise, man.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Jongdae says, and they all jokingly raise their water glasses. Baekhyun bites back a grin.

 

⁂

 

There are days when not everyone can make it, and those are the days when the basement that normally feels overly cramped, no longer feels full enough. When Friday rolls around, Baekhyun walks into the store to see Chanyeol and Kyungsoo hanging around the counter and talking to Junmyeon, who greets Baekhyun warmly as always.

 

“Are Minseok and Jongdae not coming, today?” Baekhyun asks. He’s since learned that they all lead rather separate lives outside of their time together in the store. Kyungsoo is his year but enrolled at a private academy, Minseok is a college student at SNU who’s helping to pay off his fees with a part-time job, while Jongdae went straight to work after graduating high school. And with Chanyeol being a year below Baekhyun and a frequent ditcher of independent study, they, too, hardly cross each other’s paths during their daily lives. As Chanyeol and Kyungsoo shake their heads, Baekhyun thinks to himself that he’ll have to hear the story of how everyone met, one day.

 

“Jongdae’s busy with his job,” Kyungsoo replies. Baekhyun nods.

 

“Minseok, too?” he asks, not really noticing that he feels a little disappointed. Or maybe he does, but the way in which he automatically chooses to ignore it almost makes it seem like he hasn't noticed it at all. Since the beginning, there’s been something about Minseok that makes Baekhyun feel comfortable, at ease. At first he thought he could be intimidating, with his cool attitude and his older age, or the fact that he’s the one that everyone seems to silently respect him as the leader. But Baekhyun's since then grown to see that there's something telling, something expository in the way Minseok plays, the way he tenderly holds his trumpet with his lax posture, closing his eyes as he makes his instrument sing. The way that, no matter how lively and fiery his song, Minseok’s sound emits an aching chill that unfolds in Baekhyun’s chest. It makes Baekhyun feel, oddly, like Minseok has already breeched over any walls of hesitation or reservedness between them through his choice to allow Baekhyun to hear him play.

 

Minseok doesn't talk as much as the others. Maybe Baekhyun feels like he's gotten to know more of what he knows about Minseok, which isn't much for now, from his melodies rather than from his words. And maybe there's something about that, that Baekhyun is irrevocably intrigued by.

 

These thoughts get pushed to the back of his mind, however, when Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Junmyeon all grow a slightly strained expression that they all share. “What?”

 

“He’s,” Junmyeon begins when Kyungsoo and Chanyeol look to him for an answer. “You know.” Junmyeon seems to peer around the shop to make sure there aren’t any customers too closeby, before he makes a motion with his fist, raising it into the air a few times, effectively breaking through Baekhyun’s confusion.

 

“Minseok protests?” Baekhyun gapes, and the other three immediately shush him. He sheepishly falls into a whisper, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

 

“Yeah. But it’s not like he doesn’t know that,” Kyungsoo shrugs. “We don’t try to stop him.” He then pauses. “I wouldn’t tell your parents that you’re friends with a student activist.”

 

“Oh, right.” Baekhyun just goes along with it. “Yeah, don’t worry about that.” The three don’t really seem to particularly like talking about it, so Baekhyun drops it.

 

He spends some of the evening practicing with Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, and while it’s still lively and enjoyable on their own, Baekhyun can’t help but feel like it’s incomplete without the brass. So he spends most of his time sitting with Chanyeol and Kyungsoo in the basement, who play their favorite jazz records for him and drill the names of all the Greats into Baekhyun’s head.

 

“Jongdae dreams of being a star, one day. The next Charlie Parker,” Chanyeol says, spinning one of his drumsticks around on his fingertips. “But not before I’m the next Max Roach.”

 

“Max Roach made sure to get his Bachelor’s degree,” Kyungsoo says pointedly, making Chanyeol wrinkle his nose.

 

“School was never my thing, you know that, Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol dismisses, before smiling boastfully. “Besides, who cares about school when you’re going to be the best drummer in the world?”

 

“Chanyeol thinks the world is much smaller than it is,” Kyungsoo says to Baekhyun. “To him it’s Gyeonggi-do, then America. Not even all of America—New York. That’s it.” Baekhyun laughs as Chanyeol whines more at Kyungsoo, who eventually submits, “Yeah, yeah, you’re going to be the best.”

 

“Does Minseok have a dream like that?” Baekhyun asks. He’s still thinking about Minseok, what he could be doing right now. He’s only heard or read about the student protests that have grown violent, crushed by the riot police. Now more than ever, he’d like to believe that those stories weren’t true.

 

“Minseok’s got _too_ many dreams,” Kyungsoo sighs. “If there’s anyone who could make a career out of music, we all thought it was him. He’s talented, he’s smart—he goes to university on a scholarship. But, I think he’s got too many other things on his mind.”

 

“Other things,” Baekhyun repeats, wondering if this has anything to do with what Minseok’s up to, currently.

 

“He’s too busy worrying about the future of this country to think about his own.” Kyungsoo kisses his teeth. “We always say that one of these days, he’ll follow his hero’s footsteps and burn out.”

 

“Ah!” Chanyeol seems to remember something, digging through the box of everyone’s favorite records. “That’s who we forgot: Minseok’s hero!”

 

Chanyeol pulls a thin, tattered sleeve out from the stack, clearly many years old, and hands it to Baekhyun. “Chet Baker. Minseok’s first and last love.”

 

“Once Minseok starts talking about him, he doesn’t stop,” Kyungsoo says. “Like a teenage girl with a crush. At least, before Chet got hooked on heroin and got himself jailed.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun knits his brows together. “That's what you meant by burning out? You sure have faith in Minseok.”

 

“Heh, we’re just kidding. Minseok’s got more sense than that,” Kyungsoo reassures with a smile.

 

“Yeah, Minseok likes playin' dumb sometimes, but he’s one of the coolest, no, _the_ coolest guy we know,” Chanyeol choruses. “Smart, girls love ‘im, and none of us can out-play him. He’s a genius.”

 

“Cute,” Baekhyun comments, finding himself smiling as he gets an idea of how much Chanyeol and Kyungsoo look up to their senior. Chanyeol nods without hesitation, while Kyungsoo huffs.

 

 

⁂

 

“You guys can go ahead. I’m going to practice a little longer,” Baekhyun says when the other two start packing it in.

 

“What a dedicated pupil you are,” Kyungsoo says, to which Baekhyun rolls his eyes right about to the back of his head.

 

“Train well, young grasshopper,” Chanyeol adds, and the two of them share a shit-eating grin before heading out. With Chanyeol and Kyungsoo gone, Baekhyun waits a second as if to truly make sure he's alone, before he puts on the Chet Baker record and listens. He goes back and forth between listening with a wrinkle in his brow, lifting the needle off the disc and scuffing to the corner of the room to try to play what he hears on the piano, fiddling with the cartridge on that dusty old record player about a million times for no other reason other than the fact that he feels it would bode well for him to learn some of Minseok’s favorite songs.

 

Why he’s putting in the extra time to think about Minseok, he attributes to admiration. Minseok, who welcomed him. Minseok, who plays around with him, yet takes care of him. Minseok, who—

 

In the middle of listening and drifting further and further away into his thoughts, Baekhyun suddenly hears the muffled taps of someone taking slow steps down the stairway, before the door to the basement swings open.

 

“Hey, I know that song,” says a voice, and even before seeing him, Baekhyun knows who that silvery tone belongs to. He looks up, smiling to see Minseok in front of him. “You’re a fan of Chet?”

 

“No, but I heard you are,” Baekhyun replies, getting up from the couch one last time and walking over to the piano. He doesn’t take notice of the way he’s grinning at Minseok, thanks to both their immediate exchange and the mere fact that he feels happy to see him. “Thought I’d try learning something new.”

 

“Happy Little Sunbeam?” Minseok reads a title off of the track listings on the record cover. When he speaks in English, his register goes a little lower, the hills of his voice that normally bounces delightfully from high to mid-ranges elongate while his syllables grow more careful and slow. Baekhyun likes the sound of it, but he thinks he likes the way Minseok’s looking at him, more. “Is that you?”

 

“Me?” Baekhyun laughs. “I'm no sunbeam.”

 

“I beg to differ,” is Minseok’s quirky reply. "You look like one." Baekhyun tilts his head.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t really get an answer, just an ambiguous little smile from Minseok coupled by an equally ambiguous little shrug. Baekhyun feels his lips purse, and somehow, the room feels smaller. When he can only look down at the keyboard, unsure of what to say, Minseok clicks his tongue and lifts the needle off of the record player. It scratches into a silence, making Baekhyun’s thoughts all the more louder.

 

Things immediately return to normalcy when Minseok asks, “Do you want to play a little tune with me?”

 

“Just us?” Baekhyun looks up.

 

“I mean, yeah, if you're down to go one on one with me.”

 

“What’s this, a fist fight?” Baekhyun scoffs.

 

"Yes, that's exactly what this is, now put 'em up," Minseok snips, dropping a sheet of music onto the piano’s rack before placing a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Look a little alive, yeah? Jazz is all about confidence.”

 

“Wow, that's what, Life Lesson Number Nineteen that jazz magically teaches,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes, making Minseok laugh.

 

“It’s a panacea, it fixes everything. Come on,” Minseok urges, taking his trumpet out of its case. He wiggles his brows, suggestively. “I know you want to impress me.”

 

Baekhyun immediately swallows his lips, feeling like a criminal who’s been caught in the act. He knows Minseok doesn’t mean it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And it seems to grow truer and truer with every minute Baekhyun spends around Minseok.

 

Instead of taking it lying down though, he exhales through his nose, before cheekily declaring, “Maybe it’s you who’s trying to impress me.”

 

“Oh?” Minseok already looks impressed. “So you _do_ have some spunk in you. Why don't you take twenty minutes, learn the charts.”

 

Baekhyun rolls up his sleeves, glancing at the sheet of paper that reads “Take The A Train,” studying it before flashing Minseok a quick grin. “Don’t underestimate me. Give me ten.”

 

True to his promise, it only takes Baekhyun a few tries over ten minutes to practically master the short little tune, but somehow the next hour is spent playing it over and over with Minseok, adding their own little twists and turns, laughing at each other’s successful and failed endeavors. Baekhyun gets so lost sneaking glances at Minseok that he makes stupid mistakes, which makes Minseok cockily ask, “Can’t keep your eyes off of me?” while shimmying up to the piano on beat—which then makes Baekhyun laugh so hard that he screws up, even more. And if he's being honest, he doesn't care. It’s not perfect, nowhere near touching it. But that’s what gives it its charm.

 

“And that’s Take the A Train. You know, I already had high expectations for you,” Minseok starts when they finally finish what they promised for the fourth time would be the last run, having gone into the late hours. His lips have grown a flushed pink from all the playing, his smile tired yet still so full of life and vigor, “but you’ve truly impressed me tonight, Sunbeam.”

 

The little nickname makes Baekhyun appropriately break out into a bright smile. When he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the lamp that sits on top of the piano, he begins to understand what Minseok meant, before. He can see _and_ feel the balls of his cheeks and the corners of his eyes scrunch up in that way Minseok tends to make him do, and he’s in no position to complain.

 

“Thanks. You’re not half bad, yourself,” he quips, and Minseok squints at him. "Mission accomplished, I guess."

 

"So you did want to impress me?" It's said more as a statement than a question. Baekhyun scratches his neck.

 

"I mean, yeah, I think it's pretty obvious." It's said more as a question than a statement. He watches as Minseok heaves a sigh through his smile and fans himself, winded after going such a long time blowing into the trumpet and barely coming up for air throughout. When Minseok empties his spit valve onto the floor, Baekhyun, who’s feeling a bit daring, decides to tease him. “Gross, dude.”

 

“Oh, don't be a brat,” Minseok huffs.

 

“Brat, me? I thought I was your sunbeam,” Baekhyun says back. That seems to ignite something of a spark in Minseok’s eyes. Baekhyun has no idea that his eyes look about the same.

 

**⋯**

 

Baekhyun’s repertoire grows leaps and bounds in a matter of a few weeks. The more he learns, the louder he plays. The louder he plays, the more he begins to leave his shell when he's around Minseok and the others. And so the bigger his fondness grows for this strange genre of music that he used to discount as a bunch of noise.

 

Moanin’. Cantaloupe Island. Lullaby Of Birdland. Stop Time. Take The A Train. An array of songs from the upbeat to the more mellow, constantly replay in his mind at any given moment of the day. During his classes, at home—all he wants to do is play jazz.

 

“So this is the kind of music you play with your friends, Baekhyun?” Joohyun asks as Baekhyun finishes practicing the same few bars of improvisation, over and over, growing mildly frustrated with his repeated mistakes and the chords that he just can't get to clash in the right way.

 

“Yeah. It’s jazz,” Baekhyun replies, before he grows a little sheepish. “It probably doesn’t sound like much, right now, but…”

 

Before he can finish, Joohyun says, “I like it!” Her eyes widen and she waves a hand, “Don’t get me wrong, the music you played before is lovely, too. But you always played such sad-sounding songs...this is more lively. _You_ seem more lively, too.”

 

Baekhyun hasn’t thought about the music he used to play in a while, and he realizes that Joohyun has a point. He grew up liking songs that made people's heart ache, because that's what he was taught was beautiful. It was like an outlet for him, but now, it’s a whole other world. He smiles at how strange this sudden change must have been, and nods. “You know, I think you’re right. I wish you could hear the others though, they can really bring the house down.”

 

At that point there’s a knock at the door, and Baekhyun thinks to himself, _Speak of the devil._ He shuffles off of the piano bench and says, “That’s for me. I’ll see you later, Joohyun-noona.”

 

When he opens the front door, he’s greeted by Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Jongdae, all dressed in their Sunday mass clothes and holding paper bags full of groceries.

 

Instead of greeting Baekhyun with something simple like _hi,_ Jongdae spouts, “Goddamn, Baekhyun, if I knew you were this loaded I would have had you do the shopping for us.”

 

“Nice to see you too,” Baekhyun replies, unsure if he should mention that the house and money isn’t his. But he doesn’t have to say anything at all, because his friends’ attentions are all immediately grabbed by something else. Baekhyun raises a brow when Chanyeol grows noticeably distracted by something inside the house, with Kyungsoo soon following suit, then Jongdae. He turns around and, upon seeing that they were staring at Joohyun who is waving sweetly at them, he nearly rolls his eyes.

 

“Joohyun-noona,” Baekhyun says, opening the door wider and stepping aside. “These are my friends. Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol.”

 

“Hi, Noona!” Chanyeol bubbles, casting an arm around to wave as if she wasn’t ten steps away. Kyungsoo bows nearly 90 degrees as he shyly mutters a barely unintelligible greeting, while Jongdae noticeably makes his voice deeper as he says, “We’ll take care of Baekhyun, today.”

 

Baekhyun physically cannot stop himself from rolling his eyes this time, and all but pushes them out of the doorway the second Joohyun finishes greeting them back. When they’re out on the driveway, he cynically thinks to himself that boys are such dogs.

 

“Is Joohyun-noona your sister?” Chanyeol asks in a moony tone as they start the walk over to the music store. “She’s so pretty.”

 

“Yeah,” Jongdae says in agreement, making Kyungsoo snort.

 

“I don’t think your girlfriend will be happy to hear you were drooling over Baekhyun’s sister.”

 

“No, no, no,” Jongdae immediately denies, shaking his head. “Dahye is the most beautiful girl as far as I’m concerned, _but_ that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge the prettiness of other girls.” He then swats Kyungsoo, “And you’re one to talk, your _ears_ got pink, back there!”

 

“Fellas, if you’re done,” Baekhyun cuts in, beginning to grow uncomfortable. “No, she's not my sister. I guess she’s more like my cousin.”

 

“You guess?” Kyungsoo glances at Baekhyun, who shrugs.

 

“It’s so far removed, I don’t think we’re blood-related. But I guess it’s close enough, and I call her mom my aunt,” Baekhyun explains. The other three look confused, then more confused.

 

“How come you’re living with them?” Chanyeol asks. Baekhyun struggles to find an answer that wouldn't tire him to explain.

 

“Because,” he starts after a bit of deliberation, shrugging like the situation is hardly uncasual, “it just happened this way.”

 

It goes comfortably quiet after that, until Jongdae makes a hard turn from the subject with some story about something that happened at church.

 

⁂

 

Junmyeon needs the store’s basement, so the plan for today is to head upwards—literally. Above the music store sits Jongdae’s apartment, a tiny place for a tiny family, just Jongdae, his mother, and his little brother.

 

When Jongdae lets them in, Baekhyun is pleased to see that Minseok’s already inside, laying across the floor and watching the television.

 

“Honey, we’re home,” Jongdae says sardonically. Minseok makes a noise of acknowledgement in response. “My mom already headed out?”

 

“Yeah, and I took Jongin to his friend’s house.” Minseok sits up as the others take their seats around him. Baekhyun looks at the grainy image on the T.V., where Minseok’s been watching the news.

 

“Do you ever watch anything other than the news?” Chanyeol makes a face, scooting up to the television to change the channel.

 

“Some people _like_ to know what’s going on in the world,” Minseok replies.

 

“Like this is the whole truth,” Jongdae gripes as he gestures towards the screen. He nudges Minseok’s shoulder, “this is just what the President wants us to see. Even whatever they’re telling us about Vietnam is probably just coated in fifteen layers of anti-commie bullshit.”

 

“Great,” Kyungsoo scoffs, “a revolutionary _and_ a conspiracy theorist, among us.”

 

Baekhyun just listens to them bicker, seated between Minseok and Jongdae with his knees to his chest. At last, Chanyeol groans, bored by talk of politics, and changes the channel. They spend the afternoon watching _Gukteo Manri_  on Jongdae's small, grainy screen. Baekhyun misses most of the important plot developments because, as if the scratchy audio isn't enough of an obstacle, not even five minutes can pass without somebody talking over the dialogue.

 

“What time period is this, again?” Chanyeol asks unintelligibly through his mouthful of choco pie, crinkling the foil wrapper loudly as he finishes.

 

“Goryeo,” Kyungsoo answers lowly, not taking his eyes off of the screen.

 

 _“Hah?”_ Crumbs fly out of Chanyeol's mouth.

 

 _“Goryeo,_ Three Kingdoms,” Kyungsoo says, louder this time.

 

Chanyeol smacks his lips, “Ohh, okay.”

 

 _“Aish!”_ Jongdae screeches frustratedly, slamming his hands on the floor—and Baekhyun’s thigh—repeatedly, “You guys talk too damn loud, I didn’t hear the twist!”

 

“Wh—I'm Baekhyun, why are you hitting me!” Baekhyun shouts, leaning back into Minseok in an attempt to get away from Jongdae.

 

“Nice to meet you, Baekhyun, and Chanyeol’s too far away!” Jongdae yells back with a sneer. The program ends there, and Minseok lets out a tired sigh before eventually smiling down at Baekhyun, who’s still pressed into him. Baekhyun averts his gaze, his cheeks growing warmer when he can feel Minseok’s breathing against his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

 

It's suddenly warm in Jongdae's living room, he thinks absently to himself. He imagines an old-timey news reporter saying  _Heat wave in Seoul,_ over and over again to distract himself from the deeper concern he starts to feel. It's then that Minseok drapes an arm around Baekhyun's shoulders to keep him close, and Baekhyun swallows almost audibly.  _Temperatures have risen to an all-time high, the city's fucking melting. More as it develops._

 

They turn off the T.V. after that, and opt to talk while still seated on the floor. With no instruments and no record player, only their stories to pass around, Baekhyun learns the most about them than he probably ever has in a single sitting.

 

“I grew up with Jongdae and Junmyeon,” Minseok explains when Baekhyun asks how they all came together. He rubs his chin as he recalls, “Junmyeon’s father owned the shop, he and his friends taught us how to play, let us use his record player and his instruments. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo didn’t walk in until, was it ‘68?”

 

“Yeup,” Chanyeol confirms with a bob of his head, aimlessly tapping out rhythms on his thigh with his palms. “We didn’t even plan on it, we were just passing by and thought we’d look around. But Junmyeon’s pop really knew how to sell, we ended up talking for an hour about the record he was playing.”

 

“Where’s Junmyeon’s dad, now?” Baekhyun asks. “I’ve never seen him.” Jongdae gives a light sigh.

 

“He passed away, few years ago. Junmyeon dropped out of school, to run the shop.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun fumbles with his words, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t know.”

 

“It’s alright. Junmyeon's alright,” Jongdae says. He then nods towards Kyungsoo. “But you’d be interested to know, our bassist here _really_ didn’t want to join, in the beginning.”

 

“Join what, you and Minseok blowing your brains out together in that dirty cellar?” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. He leans forward to look at Baekhyun, “keep in mind that they weren’t _half_ as good as we are, now. You wouldn’t have wanted to join, either.”

 

“Come on, Kyungsoo,” Minseok teases, lightly grinding a knuckle into Kyungsoo’s temple. “You love us.”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Besides, that’s not why you didn’t want to join, you didn’t want to join because of your terrible stage fright. Remember our first performance, when you bawled like a—” Jongdae’s cut off when Kyungsoo pelts a chip at him.

 

“You want to talk about crying? How about when you wanted to get Dahye to notice you, so you started growing your hair out like a hippie,” Kyungsoo jabs, and Jongdae grows indignant.

 

“That’s not true!”

 

“There are pictures, of you _and_ Chanyeol with those ridiculous manes. You two are lucky you didn’t wind up in jail!”

 

“Is it true?” Baekhyun asks Minseok, who he deems the most reliable source. Minseok nods, and they both begin to crack up.

 

“Kyungsoo wouldn’t stop hounding them about how they’d get arrested, but they thought they looked so cool that they refused to cut their hair. So one day, when they fell asleep down at the store after practice, Kyungsoo clipped them nearly bald.” Minseok recounts the whole story in a whisper into Baekhyun’s ear, and it ends with Baekhyun falling apart at the seams with laughter. “When they woke up, Jongdae actually cried, screaming _my hair, my beautiful hair!_ ”

 

“Was it beautiful?” Baekhyun asks despite already knowing the answer. Minseok grins.

 

“Nope, it was just awful. Besides, I don’t think either of them would last behind bars, even overnight. While he had that hair, Jongdae tried to act tough and be all, _screw authority!_ But he’d take off at the speed of light just at the sight of a cop.”

 

“God, stop,” Baekhyun crows through his laughter, “or else _I’m_ going to cry.”

 

“Maybe it’s initiation,” Minseok says, equally amused.

 

“Wanna hear about the time _I_ cried?” Chanyeol asks, when Jongdae and Kyungsoo brush him off.

 

“You _always_ cry, Chanyeol, it’s nothing new when you do it,” Jongdae says, making Chanyeol pout.

 

“Only for noble reasons!”

 

“You cry when your ramyun’s too hot,” Kyungsoo deadpans, and Baekhyun fears his stomach will hurt if he laughs any more.

 

“So, what made you cry?” Baekhyun asks Minseok, intrigued. “If tears are initiation.” But the others are listening in by now, and are all shaking their heads.

 

“Minseok’s never cried in front of anyone, not once,” is Chanyeol’s guarantee. “He’s a wall.”

 

“Emotionally constipated,” Kyungsoo corrects him.

 

“My soul cries, everyday,” Minseok drawls, placing a hand on his chest. “For you all, and Junmyeon, my classmates and Chet Baker. Tears shed by the heart are much more meaningful than from the eyes.”

 

“Thanks, Confucius.”  
“Wow, I’m so touched I could throw up.”  
“Did you really just say that? What did that even _mean?”  
_"Forget I even asked."

 

At some point during their rollercoaster of a conversation, the focus turns to Baekhyun when Kyungsoo says, “We’re talking so much about ourselves, but you’ve barely told us anything about you, Baekhyun.”

 

It comes unexpectedly, and Baekhyun, who was plenty entertained listening to the others’ stories, finds himself at a loss. His mind flashes through any experiences he’s had with the few friends he's made in his past schools, but there’s nothing he can think to share. Nothing that quite matches this mood, this feeling that these four create that he just wants to be a part of.

 

“I don’t really have any stories,” Baekhyun finally says plainly, suddenly feeling awkward in his own skin. He absently counts the stripes on the futon draped underneath the coffee table. “Nothing worth telling.”

 

“What, you never had friends?” Jongdae retorts. Baekhyun shrugs.

 

“I’ve had ‘em. Just didn’t do much with them.”

 

“Well,” Minseok says, patting Baekhyun on the thigh. “That’s okay. Chances are, you’ll make a lot of stories, here.”

 

Baekhyun’s mouth forms the faintest of smiles at that, the feeling from before gradually returning to him. He gingerly nods, telling both the guys, and himself, “Yeah.”

 

Minseok’s hand is dangerously close to Baekhyun’s, their fingers nearly touching. Baekhyun doesn’t move his hand away, and he can’t ignore the fact that Minseok doesn’t, either.

 

**⋯**

 

Baekhyun jogs down the now familiar plaza past the railroad crossing after school, saying a quick hello to Junmyeon before heading to the cellar, humming a tune to himself. He’s pleased to see that everyone’s there today, and it must show on his face because Kyungsoo greets him with, “Somebody is having a good day.”

 

“Well, it’s about to get better. Ready for your first performance?” Minseok asks. Baekhyun’s expression immediately drops, and the guys laugh at the puzzled look on his face.

 

“C’mon, you thought we’d never look to the stage?” Jongdae says, looking even more full of zeal than usual.

 

“Stage? Where?” Baekhyun asks, taken aback. “Like...a festival?”

 

“Calm down, tiger,” laughs Minseok, shaking his head. “Just a casual gig. My college friend part-times at the Itaewon Radio Pub, and sometimes he’s able to hook us up with a slot there.”

 

“It’s the first job we’ve had in months!” Chanyeol crows, “Baek, you gotta come!”

 

Baekhyun thinks about it, wondering if he’s ready. He’s mostly able to keep up with everyone at this point, but he never dreamed that he’d ever have to perform. Minseok seems to sense his hesitance, because he claps a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder and massages it.

 

“It’ll be fun, we have time to prepare. And it isn’t the same without a piano,” Minseok says, genuinely. “On the days you don’t show up, nothing sounds right, anymore.”

 

“Oh, you're making me blush.” Despite the sarcasm laced in his voice, Baekhyun is no doubt pleased when the others nod in agreement. Finally, with a grin, he says, “Alright—just 'cause Minseok’s begging me.”

 

“Just sit your ass down and learn your charts,” Minseok scoffs, never once letting Baekhyun forget his place as the new boy. He passes by the piano, pressing down on Baekhyun’s head and ruffling his hair. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, rookie.”

 

For the rest of that week leading up to the performance, they dedicate all their time together to practicing relentlessly. They all argue over which songs they should play, take about a million votes, and complain about how they weren’t allotted enough time to show off everything they want to. Baekhyun finds himself more and more involved, more and more riled up by the things that rile the others up, feeding into their uproarious sessions rather than fading into the background like he once did, many weeks ago.

 

Before he knows it, the evening of the gig arrives. He doesn’t tell his aunt where he’s going as he heads out of the house that night, only that he’s going to see his friends. She looks at him for a few seconds longer than he feels she normally does, but doesn’t question his nice clothes. Just tells him, "Be safe. It can be dangerous at night."

 

That alone makes Baekhyun pause, before he gives an affirmative nod. "I will. Thanks."

 

He had left the house feeling as confident as he had the whole week leading up to tonight, but his nerves seem to swell up over the course of the commute downtown. He tries to blame the butterflies in his stomach to the hum and shake of the bus as it billows down the streets, but is soon void of an excuse once he's reached his stop.

 

“Baek!” Baekhyun looks up to see Minseok at the front entrance of the pub, a cigarette between his fingers. It’s a warm night, and coupled with the growing anticipation, Baekhyun begins to worry he’ll sweat through his shirt. He mentally tries to calm himself down as he walks up to Minseok, masking his jitteriness with a smile that Minseok returns. “You’re here. We go in through the side.”

 

After following Minseok into an alleyway that leads them to an entryway backstage, it all suddenly catches up with Baekhyun, who irrationally begins to regret his choice of coming here. Chanyeol, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo are already setting up on the small platform of a stage—luckily not needing any more help because Baekhyun, who can feel his spirit already leaving his body, is sure he'd be useless in this state. What brings him back to earth is Minseok tugging him by the arm.

 

“Baekhyun,” Minseok says, making Baekhyun turn to face him. He’s greeted with the sight of a smiling Minseok that at least temporarily eases his nerves, alongside a young man Baekhyun hasn't seen, before. “This is my friend from university, Zhang Yixing. He hooked us up with the gig.”

 

“Oh,” Baekhyun unconsciously scrunches the fabric of his slacks into his sweaty hand before he sticks it out to Yixing. “I’m Baekhyun, Minseok’s piano player.”

 

Yixing laughs at that, shaking Baekhyun’s hand. A dimple forms on his cheek when he laughs, deepens as he says, “His piano player, what are you doing to these poor dudes, Minseok?” His voice has the faintest accent, which Baekhyun realizes makes sense, given his name.

 

“It’s not like that,” Minseok swears, squinting at Baekhyun. “We have good feelings for each other.” He teasingly bumps his elbow into Baekhyun’s side, before beginning to step outside, once more. “I’m gonna go finish my smoke. You can test out the piano if you want, Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun is left with Yixing after that, and, greatly needing a way to prolong walking out onto that stage, he decides to ask, “So, how did you and Minseok meet?”

 

“I’m a journalism student in Minseok’s class,” Yixing explains, “and I help publish the school paper. Minseok is very involved with that, in his own ways.” Baekhyun immediately wonders if Yixing means Minseok is involved in an underground press, spreading his and others' radical political opinions. Fantastic, he thinks to himself. Another thing Minseok's doing that could possibly get him expelled. Or worse.

 

“Ah, I see,” Baekhyun says slowly. “So are you also an activist?”

 

“Hm? Oh, no,” Yixing says with a chuckle, holding up his hands. “Not with my blood. Being Chinese doesn’t mix well with provoking the Korean government.”

 

“Right,” Baekhyun notes, a little embarrassed that he didn’t think about that. Yixing nods.

 

“Yeah. Probably don't have Minseok's articulation, either. Back in our first year, he was just passing by when he was asked to share his perspective at a rally—and boy, was he a natural.” Yixing smiles, “He’s modest, but he knows how to get things done.”

 

Baekhyun looks over to the doorway, where he sees Minseok’s silhouette, darkened by the night and giving way to a thin stream of smoke that rises and withers into the air. His shoulders look broad and his posture upright as ever, but when Baekhyun can’t see his face, when it seems like the only time he's even somewhat close to being able to read Minseok's thoughts are when a trumpet is in his hands, he can only wonder if there’s a limit to that resilience that everyone admires, so much.

 

When he pokes his head out to let Minseok know it’s almost time to get onstage, he catches a glimpse of Minseok screwing shut what looks like a prescription bottle. Automatically interested, Baekhyun sneaks up behind him.

 

“Popping pills before a performance?” Baekhyun asks teasingly, making Minseok almost jump a little, in surprise.

 

“Scared me,” Minseok laughs, before he shakes his head. “Don’t go sounding the alarms, it’s just a lil’ something to calm the nerves.”

 

“I can use something like that,” Baekhyun says, only half-joking about it. To his unspoken disappointment, Minseok just smirks.

 

“Sorry, it’s not for sunbeams.” With that he runs his fingers gently across Baekhyun’s scalp to tousle his hair that Baekhyun had worked so hard on getting to look performance-worthy earlier, before jerking his thumb towards the inside. “Ready to boogie?” He flashes that infectious grin, and Baekhyun doesn’t have much choice other than to return it as he smooths his bangs back into place.

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

⁂

 

Despite his confident facade, the truth was, and still is, that Baekhyun might as well be sweating bullets. As he sits rigidly at the piano bench, he can’t bring himself to look at the audience. He knows he’s probably being dramatic, the bar isn’t even particularly big or spacious, so it isn’t like there’s a huge crowd. But when Baekhyun has only ever done piano recitals for handfuls of parents and students who were all there out of obligation rather than for entertainment purposes, the environment he’s in now is like a full house concert in comparison.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jongdae announces into his microphone, ever so classily, “we’re pleased to be back. We’re the Chungmuro Jazz Group. We put together a set that we think you guys will be a fan of, so please sit back, and enjoy the music!”

 

The audience gives a polite clap, and Baekhyun promptly places his fingers accordingly on the black and white keys, his heart feeling like it’s trying to climb up into his throat. He hears Chanyeol click his sticks together to count them off, and—

 

Baekhyun starts early.

 

People often say that it’s better for something to go horribly wrong in the beginning, because it means everything that comes after will go smoothly. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth—even after he presses onto the keys a beat early and generates peculiar glances from Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, Jongdae, and probably members of the audience, Baekhyun does not find his balance. He fumbles messily through his solo parts, stops and restarts in the middle of his improvisations, and seems to exclusively be hitting keys that produce all the wrong sounds in the wrong places.

 

By the end of the first part of their set, Baekhyun feels like he could pass out. He hears the audience go into applause, but to Baekhyun, it’s all empty praise. Frustrated, overwhelmed, and relentlessly beating himself up on the inside, he forlornly reaches the conclusion that he just wasn’t ready, yet. That’s when Minseok walks across the stage towards him during the transition, and bends over to be eye-level with Baekhyun.

 

"Hey. You good?" Minseok asks, not an ounce of hostility nor disappointment in his voice. Just genuine care.

 

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun whispers, ashamed and barely able to look Minseok in the eye. But Minseok’s expression holds nothing but understanding, and he smiles gently. Then, right then and there, he takes Baekhyun’s hands in his own.

 

“It’s okay. You just need to relax, Baek,” Minseok whispers. “You’re trying too hard to be picture perfect, but that’s not what this is. You just need to let yourself go with the flow.” Miraculously, Minseok’s voice is the soothing agent that gets Baekhyun’s shoulders to loosen, his breathing to even out. While he’s still upset, he feels nowhere near as hopeless as he did, a minute ago. And while that isn’t saying much, he appreciates it all the same. “Ready?”

 

“...Mm’yeah. I think so.” Baekhyun tries to manage a smile, and a look comes over Minseok’s face, like he’s just been struck by an idea. Baekhyun feels Minseok squeeze onto his hands, pumping that warm comfort through his veins as a parting gift, before, all too soon, he lets go.

 

Minseok then walks up to the microphone, and says into it, “We’re going to show you all a fun little number next. This one’s called Take The A Train, I think you’ll all dig it.”

 

That wasn’t in their plans. Baekhyun’s eyes grow about two sizes when he processes it, and he whips his head up to see Minseok motioning for a confused-looking Jongdae, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol to sit this one out. Baekhyun’s heart that had successfully found its way into his throat now pivots and drops all the way to his stomach, and he swears he can feel the impact of it colliding into his gut.

 

Minseok glances at him to shoot him an encouraging little smirk, to which Baekhyun mouths, _“No, no, NO,”_ over and over again, eyes so wide they could pop out of his head. But to no avail.

 

He changes his mind. Minseok is awful, he's the worst, he's pure evil and Baekhyun hates him. He watches in terror as Minseok lifts his trumpet to his lips, and left with no other option, Baekhyun reluctantly gets his fingers into position as well. He tries to put himself back into that night he and Minseok spent alone in the basement, the way they conversed through their instruments, the way everything had become a game. The way Baekhyun was just fully submerged in Minseok’s mirth.

 

In that split second before he and Minseok begin to play in perfect sync, Baekhyun finds it. And he never loses it, all the way through his and Minseok’s charming little duet, up until Baekhyun finishes with a trickle of notes on the piano’s upper register that playfully argue with the low bop of Minseok’s trumpet. When the audience breaks out into applause once more, this time one that resounds in Baekhyun’s ears like the sweetest reward, Baekhyun looks up to catch Minseok flashing that wide gummy grin and mouthing to him, _“You did it.”_

 

And Baekhyun soaks it up, finally thinking to himself that, perhaps, he can get used to this. Now, and even many years later, this single instance is what Baekhyun considers the most gratifying moment of his life.

 

⁂

 

“Gah, what was that!” Jongdae shrieks as all five of them walk back home together, afterwards. “That’s not what we rehearsed!”

 

“Baekhyun’s been here for what, a month, and he’s already Minseok’s favorite,” Chanyeol whines, poking Baekhyun in the back incessantly with his drumsticks. “He’s never performed a duet with me.”

 

“I was just fixing a bit of stage fright,” Minseok says nonchalantly. He looks back at Baekhyun, and winks. With the way Baekhyun’s smiling, he feels like his face might freeze this way. But it’d all be worth it.

 

 _“Just fixing a bit of stage fright,”_ Jongdae slurs mockingly, before tossing his hands up. “Next time you two decide to go solo, tell us beforehand!”

 

“Chill out, the people liked it,” Kyungsoo says. He turns towards Baekhyun, and nods his head. “You did good. You shouldn’t be so nervous, next time.”

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Kyungsoo’s first—” Chanyeol is cut off when Kyungsoo shoves him off the sidewalk. They reach the bus stop on the corner of the street, where Minseok lets out a breath.

 

“Well, I hope you had a good experience,” Minseok tells Baekhyun. “I gotta get back to my dorm. Give your fingers a break, tonight.”

 

“My fingers are fine. I'm no wimp, not after what you put me through, tonight,” Baekhyun shudders. "It's always, _take care of your fingers, Baekhyun._ Don't you care about the rest of me too, Minseok?" He bites his tongue between his teeth as he grins. Minseok shoots Baekhyun a wily look that conveys the words he doesn’t need to say, raises a hand to give Baekhyun a playful little push on his chest, and starts to go on his way.

 

"Goodnight."

 

"See ya." With a grin, Baekhyun shoe-horns in, “Don’t be late tomorrow!”

 

Minseok whisks around as he walks, an incredulous look on his face. “Who do you think I am? Who do you think _you are?”_

 

Baekhyun laughs a boisterous laugh, and casts his arm in the air to wave Minseok goodbye. He watches Minseok go, before squeezing his cold, numb hands together. Not only as a massage after a night of banging them against the keys despite the front he's just put up, but to try and replicate the feeling of Minseok holding onto them.

 

**⋯**

 

One would think that Baekhyun could use a break after all the excitement, but the morning after his first performance as a member of the quintet, he rushes over to Junmyeon’s shop and briskly stomps down the stairs, more eager than ever for what feels like a new chapter. When he’s greeted by all four of his bandmates seated around the record player in silence, it’s nothing new. It’s only when he hears a strangely familiar tune drifting out as the record spins on its platter, that Baekhyun suspiciously quirks up an eyebrow.

 

_Fill my heart with song, let me sing forever more… You are all I long for, all I worship, and adore—_

 

“Chanyeol, are you jamming to Sinatra?” Baekhyun asks, incredulously. Chanyeol, who was bouncing casually to the beat of the song, immediately freezes in place at Baekhyun’s question. He has the expression of someone who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and Baekhyun suppresses a snort. “I thought you all said he’s overrated.”

 

“Well...” Chanyeol’s words get caught up in his throat, before he points across the coffee table, “Minseok’s tapping his foot.” He effectively deflects the attention to Minseok, who stiffens in his chair at the sound of his name, arms crossed.

 

“Kyungsoo’s nodding his head,” Minseok points out, and Kyungsoo frowns at the accusation before tossing his head towards Jongdae.

 

“Jongdae’s got that look on his face,” Kyungsoo says.

 

They all are now looking at Jongdae, who indeed has his brows furrowed and his lips pressed together in focus. It looks like a frown, but Baekhyun’s come to learn that it really just means he's deeply enjoying something.

 

After a short moment of silence, Jongdae finally tosses his arms up as Sinatra’s voice climaxes with the fanfare of the big band, and harangues, “It’s good, okay!”

 

Baekhyun throws his head back to let out a hearty laugh, already tossing his bag aside and pulling his designated, flimsy foldable chair up to the table to join them.

 

It’s going to be another good day, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context/fun history: during President Park Chunghee's term in South Korea, there was heavy policing on youth culture, hence the mentions of censorship on movies, rock music, etc. Korean men were not even allowed to grow their hair out—if caught with long hair by the police, they could be brought to the station and/or be forced to cut it. South Korea also has a long history of student political movements, creating their own underground press and putting on antigovernment protests that potentially got very violent. In this story, Minseok is one of the many students who protests out of dissatisfaction with Chunghee's martial law constitution and the lack of democracy in the government.
> 
> Did you make it? I had a lot of reservations posting this, and I still do... Things pick up in Part II. Promise! But, uh, feel free to let me know what you think /even though not much happened, yet/? Thanks for reading!
> 
> My Twitter: [@minrimese](https://twitter.com/minrimese)


	2. Bebop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notice how my notes on the first part had actual punctuation and capitalization and now,,  
> i thought this would be posted like . a week after the first part but lsats, man.  
> but its here so,,,yeah!! and i still miss xiubaek and wanna die!! ! :)

There are three unwritten laws in the quintet, and in Baekhyun’s head, they go—

 

Law #1: only jazz is allowed.

 

Law #2: the majority rules.

 

Law #3: personal disputes are to be settled through session.

 

Even the first day that he had been dropped into this strange cast of characters out of the blue, he had gotten a taste of that first law. The second and third, however, came with time and experience.

 

“I think we should play Stolen Moments for next month’s gig,” Jongdae says, after flipping through their records for the nth time. They had been deciding on what to play for their next performance at the Radio Pub, and had been sitting in a circle, sharing their ideas. “Hit ‘em with something new, then go into the classics.”

 

“Too slow,” Baekhyun disapproves, shaking his head. “We already have enough songs like that on the list. I say we go with Four.”

 

Jongdae gives a snort, before saying, “Alrighty, then. Who votes for Stolen Moments?”

 

He immediately raises his arm high, looks around to see he’s the only one doing so, then proceeds to sprout the most indignant pout on his face. Baekhyun purses his lips as he tries but fails to keep in a laugh of triumph, and nothing else is said on the matter—other than Jongdae complaining towards Minseok, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol that he’s been abandoned “for the new kid.” Four it is, Baekhyun thinks to himself as he scribbles it onto the whiteboard.

 

“Jongdae loses again,” Chanyeol chortles, “we should keep a tally.”

 

“It’s too many to keep track of,” says Kyungsoo, straight-faced.

 

“Shut up,” Jongdae murmurs, “I’m a man of strong opinions, and they deserve to be heard!”

 

“You guys voted whether to let me join or not, right?” Baekhyun asks, thinking of the first session he had with the boys. Whenever the group has a disagreement, or needs to make a decision on something, they almost always resort to a quick vote, the results of which are indisputable. Knowing Jongdae’s streak of being on the losing side, Baekhyun then guesses, “So Jongdae voted against me?”

 

“I didn’t!!” Jongdae whines at the accusation. Just to push his buttons, Baekhyun squints suspiciously at him.

 

“It was very unanimous,” Minseok intervenes, directing a smile at Baekhyun. Baekhyun’s about to say how nice that is, when Minseok finishes, “I mean, we could all tell you had nothing better to do.”

 

Chanyeol and Jongdae loudly commend the burn, while Baekhyun scrunches his nose.

 

  
On a particularly hot day in May, when Baekhyun is feeling much too lethargic to practice, he looks around the basement to see that he’s not the only one. Chanyeol is lying on the floor next to his drumset in a way that more closely resembles a cadaver than a 17 year-old, his long legs outstretched and propped against the wall, his moppy bangs splayed up to let his forehead breathe. Kyungsoo has rolled the sleeves of his tee up over his shoulders—a drastic change of wardrobe, for him—and is now staring into space as he incessantly waves one of Junmyeon’s paper fans at himself. Jongdae is sitting on the couch with an agitated frown on his face, listening to the radio that is constantly cutting off into static before he finally shuts it off with a hiss.

 

“Junmyeon, that cheapskate, would it kill him to turn on the air conditioning,” Jongdae moans.

 

“We’re in the basement, where there’s like, zero ventilation,” Kyungsoo reminds him, “It wouldn’t reach us, anyway.” At that, all four of them collectively heave a sigh.

 

It’s then that Minseok saunters in, about to give his usual cheerful greeting before he takes notice of the four zombies staring back at him. He clears his throat, before he says, “Hi?”

 

“It’s so damn hot!” Chanyeol bursts back, and Minseok titters.

 

“Too hot to practice? Come on, I thought you guys were more passionate than to let a little heat get to you.”

 

“Up-bup-bup, I don’t want to hear it from someone who was in an air-conditioned restaurant, all day,” Jongdae deadpans. “Meanwhile, what was I doing all of the afternoon? Loading cargo, right out in the sun!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Minseok says, yielding, “then what do you guys want to do today?”

 

“Sit. Stay. Lie down,” Kyungsoo lists lifelessly, tipping his head up towards the ceiling.

 

“Play dead,” Baekhyun adds, and Kyungsoo snickers. Chanyeol suddenly sits up, his face lit up with an idea.

 

“How about,” Chanyeol points his drumsticks at Minseok, “Minseok goes to the market, and buys us a watermelon?”

 

“Wait—” Minseok is cut off when Chanyeol calls for those in favor to raise their hand. Sure enough, everyone in the room, save for a less amused-looking Minseok, is on board.

 

That’s how 30 minutes later, they’re all seated around Jongdae’s balcony, practically drooling as they impatiently watch Kyungsoo slice up the biggest watermelon they could find at the farmer’s market, weighing in at 11 kilograms. To their amazement, and to Minseok’s dismay.

 

“20,000 won,” Minseok grumbles to himself as he looks inside his now barren wallet. Baekhyun chuckles, leaning over to teasingly bump into Minseok’s side.

 

“What else would you have spent it on, anyway?”

 

“Oh, we know what he wanted to spend it on,” Jongdae jeers. When Baekhyun tilts his head questioningly, Jongdae puts together his index finger and his thumb, and puts it to his mouth. Baekhyun still doesn’t get it, and Jongdae huffs. “Pot, genius.”

 

“Hey, I stopped, remember?” Minseok holds up his hands. “No more, not after I almost got busted.”

 

“He always says that,” Chanyeol drones, his eyes still on the watermelon. “Then a few weeks later he’s back to hot-boxing the basement.”

 

“I’m  _especially_  not smoking in the basement, anymore,” Minseok rolls his eyes. He turns to Baekhyun, “These guys always wanna try smoking a bowl with me, and go out of control every time. Can you imagine, Jongdae and Chanyeol being even more loose-lipped than usual, and Kyungsoo turning into the most anxious thing alive? Junmyeon came down and thought I gave them something that could  _kill_ them.”

 

“Well,” Baekhyun contemplates with a wily smile, giving a small shrug. “I’d kinda like to see that.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Kyungsoo sighs, finally finished slicing up the watermelon at that point and handing it out to everyone and their grabby hands.

 

“In my defense—” Jongdae starts, before the lock on his front door clicks. Baekhyun looks over, and in through the door walks Jongin, Jongdae’s little brother, and his girlfriend, Dahye.

 

“Okay, Jongin, we’re home,” Dahye starts, before looking up and seeing the boys sitting on the balcony. Her expression goes sour. “Yah, Kim Jongdae!”

 

“Shit,” Jongdae says hastily as he wipes his hands against the seat of his pants, getting up and pasting on what Baekhyun can only guess is his most charming smile. “Hey, babe—”

 

“Don’t  _hey babe_ me! You begged me to go get Jongin today because you wanted to practice, but instead I find you all sitting here, leisurely?” Dahye scolds, crossing her arms. Jongdae saunters over to her, his voice a mollifying coo.

 

“It was too hot to practice, and I forgot. I’m sorry, thank you very much, you're the best,” he lilts, and Dahye gives in with a sigh. They seem to make up rather fast, now sweet-talking to each other inside the apartment, and Baekhyun reflexively makes a face before turning his attention back towards the others, deciding he’s seen enough.

 

“They’re always like that,” Chanyeol says, his mouth now full of watermelon, having torn through the biggest slice in three seconds flat. “Dahye-noona is the only one who can put Jongdae in his place, he’s whipped. Been whipped for years, now.”

 

“I can see that,” Baekhyun grimaces. Minseok sucks the juice off his thumb, looks down at the thick watermelon slice in Baekhyun’s hands that’s gone untouched, and teasingly hunches over to take a bite of it. Baekhyun makes a shrill noise of protest as he’s brought back to earth, pushing Minseok away and getting to work before Chanyeol can eat everything. It soon becomes something of a contest, all of them blowing through their portions and spitting out the seeds in an effort to beat the heat.

 

Jongdae rejoins them along with Dahye, as Minseok and Baekhyun scooch over on the bench to make room for Jongin. Baekhyun feels himself begin to blush at the way Minseok slings an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Too hot?” Minseok asks, seeming to notice the way Baekhyun pauses. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

 

“No I don’t,” Baekhyun says almost defensively. He puts on a grin, even though he feels like he’s about to start frying out in this sweltering heat. He takes hold of Minseok’s arm to keep it wrapped around him, like this is some kind of challenge. To him, it is. “We get it, Minseok, you love me.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like that,” Minseok snorts, the bite of his sarcasm lost as he tears into more watermelon. Baekhyun unconsciously leans his head onto Minseok’s arm, not caring about how gross or sweaty he’s bound to become.

 

“Noona,” Jongin says to Dahye as Kyungsoo wipes off the watermelon juice that’s dribbling down his chin, “can I borrow your Zeppelin record, again? Pretty please?”

 

“Of course. I’ll bring it, tomorrow,” Dahye says, sweetly.

 

“You’re infecting my brother,” Jongdae mutters from beside her. Dahye scoffs.

 

“He’s lucky to have  _someone_ in his life, who knows what’s actually popular. You guys are going to completely lose touch with the world, one day,” Dahye replies.  _“Or_ leave the world early—broke, drunk, and full of heroin, like the guys you worship.”

 

“Not all of them are like that!” Jongdae says, and Baekhyun raises an eyebrow.

 

“All  _your_ guys’ favorites are,” Baekhyun points out. He counts out on his fingers, “Charlie Parker, Max Roach, Chet Baker…”

 

“Hey,” Minseok cuts in with a frown. “Not all of them are dead, yet.”

 

“Wow, Jongdae,” Jongin says, shaking his head disapprovingly. “You should stop worshipping guys who ruin their lives with drugs.”

 

“What’d you just call me?” Jongdae says, and Jongin squeaks, cowering behind Baekhyun’s arm. “First you’re listening to Zeppelin, now you’re forgetting I’m your  _hyung._ ” He then frowns at a laughing Baekhyun, “Yours too.”

 

In response, Baekhyun just blows a raspberry before taking the last piece of watermelon.

 

**⋯**

 

Demonstrations of the third law are a lot more rare. The first time Baekhyun sees it is when he walks into the music shop on a dim Saturday evening to see Junmyeon, counting out the money in the register, along with Minseok and a fuming Jongdae.

 

“Where  _is_ he,” Jongdae mutters, tapping his foot impatiently. Baekhyun wanders up to the counter, raising an eyebrow.

  
“What’s got him so heated?” he asks Junmyeon, who just smiles and shakes his head without looking up from his calculator.

 

“He’s just upse—”

 

“I’ll tell you what! Chanyeol said he just needed to ‘borrow’ my van until the afternoon, but he still hasn’t come back! I had to walk across town to get to work, and back!” Jongdae cuts in. “He’s on some joyride with that Oh Sehun again, I bet.”

 

“Calm down, old man Kim,” Baekhyun says teasingly. “Chanyeol wouldn’t do that to you, on purpose. Chances are he probably got lost.” Baekhyun then stops to think about it. “...Is this more serious than I thought? Is he even able to drive?”

 

“Barely,” Minseok laughs, “but he’s still better than Junmyeon. If Junmyeon ever offers you a ride, you’re better off walking—that’s how slow he is.”

 

Junmyeon gasps at the attack, places a hand over his heart, “Hey! You guys are like precious cargo, of course I’m going to drive slow!”

 

“Three. Hours,” Jongdae retorts. “It should not take hours to get to Incheon from here, and you took three!”

 

In the midst of each of them beginning to criticize each other’s driving skills, Chanyeol suddenly pulls up to the curbside in Jongdae’s beater of a van, cutting off the engine that dies down in a hoarse sputter. Jongdae instantaneously seems to remember the bitter mood he was in before, because he’s back to being cross the second Chanyeol barges in.

 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Jongdae announces Chanyeol sheepishly pads inside, sticks in one hand and keys in the other. “What the hell, man!”

 

“Okay, before you say anything else, I’m sorry,” Chanyeol pleads, tossing Jongdae’s car keys back to him. They fly past Jongdae, who wasn’t ready, and crash into the wall. Jongdae’s frown is now cemented onto his face, and Chanyeol shrinks. “I was helping Sehun out down in Gangnam, and I thought it was going to end hours ago. But...it didn’t.”

 

“Helping him out with what?” Jongdae narrows his eyes suspiciously, and Chanyeol seems reluctant to answer.

 

“His band…” Chanyeol finally begins to explain, “Youngho was out this week, and they needed a van to get the equipment to their show.” In a quick, almost unintelligible murmur, he tacks on, “And-a-substitute-drummer.”

 

Baekhyun hears Minseok and Junmyeon audibly react at that, and even he flinches a little from pure reflex.

 

“You played for Sehun’s rock band?” Minseok asks, in disbelief. “Oh, Chanyeol. You sold out, so young.”

 

“I said no at first! But he kept begging me, and called me a loser and a bad friend when I’m not either of those—” Chanyeol pauses, looking more and more worried. “Jongdae?”

 

Jongdae is pinching the bridge of his nose, before he exhales, sharply. “That’s why you were MIA this week? So, not only do you steal my mode of transportation for a whole day, but you use it to go play Sehun’s psychedelic Deep Pink nonsense!”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t bother telling Jongdae that it’s Deep  _Purple_. He just watches as Jongdae begins harping on Chanyeol for always being irresponsible, and as Chanyeol makes a pitiful attempt to defend himself. Sometimes he wonders if one of them will eventually throw a punch, but from the looks of Minseok and Junmyeon, who are completely calm and shaking their heads like this is nothing unmanageable, he decides he won’t worry too much.

 

In the midst of their arguing, Junmyeon finally steps out from behind the counter and eases both Chanyeol and Jongdae into the basement. Baekhyun leans to the side to watch them go, all the way until Junmyeon shoves them behind the door and shuts it.

 

“I’m pretty sure those two are the leading cause for noise pollution,” Baekhyun jokes, and Minseok nods in agreement.

 

“Yeah. But they should be fine, soon enough.” When Baekhyun looks at him curiously, Minseok chuckles and tosses his head towards the basement door. “The best recipe for reconciliation is to throw two fools into one pot, and let them stew together.”

 

Baekhyun decides it’s easier if he doesn’t ask, and he finds that he doesn’t need to; eventually, a while after Chanyeol and Jongdae have been dropped into the cellar and after Baekhyun has started chatting with Junmyeon and Minseok, there’s suddenly the faint, muffled cacophony of drums and saxophone, pounding at the door and begging to be let out. Baekhyun just barely hears it, and once he does register it, it’s all he can listen to. Jongdae’s saxophone is blowing through bars and crescendoing alongside the bellowing of Chanyeol’s drums, and slowly but surely, they cadence, then crash, together.

 

When Baekhyun looks back at his company, he sees Minseok unconsciously bobbing his head to the distant, muted duet, while Junmyeon leans his elbows on the counter, smiling as he listens. Baekhyun feels a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth, and nods at nobody in particular.

 

By the time Junmyeon is about ready to close up shop, the back door opens up, and Chanyeol and Jongdae emerge, poking fun at each other with mild insults and big laughs.

 

“Are you two done wrangling?” Junmyeon asks, not even looking up as they walk past.

 

“Whatever.” Jongdae stretches his arms out with a groan, then puts up a hand. “I’m turning in. Night.”

 

“I won’t do it again, Jongdae,” Chanyeol promises, and Jongdae just blows a raspberry.

 

“You better not.” Once Jongdae’s out the door and starting his van up to go park it out back, Junmyeon heaves a sigh.

 

“I’ll drive you home, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon then offers, but Chanyeol makes a face.

 

“Yeah right, I’d get home faster if I crawled! Goodnight,” Chanyeol calls, before running out, next. As Minseok pats a sullen Junmyeon on the back, Baekhyun can only think to himself that there really is something peculiarly special going on in this nondescript little shop. That it’s become a place where music isn’t only a hobby or a pastime to these boys, but something much more important. Something that Baekhyun can’t describe in words, not now, nor in the future, when he gets to experience what happened tonight for himself.

 

**⋯**

 

“ _Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings,”_ Jongdae sings slowly, doing his best to imitate the foreign words he hears being sung on the record. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo have been listening to him repeat each line, each cluster of syllables, for the past 20 minutes, giving feedback.  _“These are a few of my favorite things.”_

 

“It’s ‘wild geese,’” Kyungsoo enunciates. “Not  _weod giss.”_ Jongdae frowns, then starts over.

 

“ _Wild geese that—”_

 

“Wild geese,” Kyungsoo interrupts.

 

“Wild geese,” Jongdae repeats, but the  _l–_ and  _ee–_ sounds are still not as crisp as Kyungsoo will allow.

 

“ _Wild. Geese,”_ Kyungsoo emphasizes, then lists the sounds using Hangul,  _“Riel, Ee.”_

 

“WILD GEESE,” Jongdae all but shouts, and Baekhyun can practically see the steam blowing out of his ears. Kyungsoo just nods.

 

“Better,” he concedes, while Jongdae sinks into the couch, defeatedly. Baekhyun gets an idea, situating himself at the piano.

 

“We should end it with a real show stopper,” Baekhyun proposes, effectively grabbing Jongdae’s attention. “How high can you go?”

 

“Hm?” Jongdae walks over, barely lifting his head.

 

“Your voice, how high can you sing?” Baekhyun elaborates. Jongdae gives a smirk.

 

“How high are you talkin’?” Baekhyun grins back, then holds down a high B-flat.

 

“Let’s say you hold this note for two or three bars more, where you sing  _feel…”_ Baekhyun then moves upward, to high C, “and instead of going back down, you reach up here. Can you do that?”

 

Jongdae’s grin doesn’t waver, and he claps Baekhyun on the shoulder. “Try me.”

 

Every time Jongdae sings, Baekhyun is floored by both the raw power and technical control he seems to possess. This time is no different, as Jongdae’s voice stretches beyond what Baekhyun thought was possible for him, holding out a high note that is touched with the finesse of his vibrato. It sends a shiver up his spine, and Baekhyun looks up at him, unable to find a reaction within him other than laugh.

 

“Jesus, Jongdae,” he says in awe.

 

“Show-off,” Kyungsoo sneers. Jongdae looks happy to receive some praise after the beatdown of an English lesson.

 

“You know,” Baekhyun begins, simpering at Jongdae. “I give you shit, but you do belong on the stage.”

 

“God, don’t fuel his ego, Baek,” Kyungsoo scoffs, shaking his head. “Or we  _really_ won’t hear the end of it.”

 

“Too late. Don’t worry, Kyungsoo,” Jongdae says smugly, sauntering up and patting Kyungsoo’s bass, “you can play backup for me once I’m in that recording studio.” Jongdae turns back to Baekhyun, “and you too! All of you can come, as my special guests. Maybe I’ll throw in an autograph, if you’re extra nice.”

 

“You wish,” Baekhyun quips. “If you somehow manage to get jazz famous in Korea, then we’re going to be your biggest competition.”

 

Jongdae taunts back, “Minseok was right, your true self is coming out.”

 

⁂

 

“Hey,” Minseok gets Baekhyun’s attention after he, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo are done practicing. He tilts his head. “Come take a walk, with me.”

 

“Am I in trouble?” Baekhyun asks, already anticipating Minseok's eye roll. "I got hagwon at four."

 

"Then you better hurry up," Minseok replies over his shoulder. Baekhyun exaggerates a groan, nonetheless grinning and following after Minseok up the stairs.

 

It’s a quiet walk, as Minseok accompanies Baekhyun to his study hall. Minseok is often of fewer words, but when he does speak, it’s always quality. When the others get noisy, Baekhyun included, he’ll often look up to see Minseok just smiling at him, assuringly. Like he’s happy to see Baekhyun out of his shell.

 

Minseok is guiding Baekhyun through a roundabout route that he doesn’t recognize, and when they start to reach a shadier looking part of town, Baekhyun can’t help but ask, “Are you getting us lost?”

 

“No, no,” Minseok laughs, before he points ahead to a convenience store, “This is just the road less traveled upon. I wanted to come see my daughter.”

 

Baekhyun nearly chokes, “Your what?”

 

“My daughter,” Minseok repeats all too casually, walking ahead with his hands in his pockets. Baekhyun can only trail behind him, dazed and confused, even more so when Minseok walks straight past the convenience store Baekhyun thought he was pointing at. Instead, Minseok rounds the corner into a small alleyway, where there’s nothing but a few toppled over trash cans.

 

“Ipno!” Minseok calls, before clicking his tongue a few times in a coaxing manner. Baekhyun slowly starts to get it, even more so when a small, calico cat emerges from behind all of the garbage, in an almost immediate response to Minseok’s voice.

 

 _Daughter,_ Baekhyun marvels to himself. He watches as Minseok squats down and holds out a hand, which the cat sniffs, before rubbing her face into the skin. Even from where he stands, Baekhyun can hear her purr.

 

“Not a cat person?” Minseok asks over his shoulder when Baekhyun doesn’t move.

 

“Usually I’m more dogs,” Baekhyun says as he walks over, bending down to get a closer look at the cat. “But, she’s cute.”

 

“Isn’t she?” Minseok speaks like a proud father, stroking behind the cat’s ears. “I’ve always wanted a cat, just like her. Her name’s Ipno.”

 

“Ipno,” Baekhyun muses, looking at how Ipno’s fur is splotched with patches of yellow and black. “Yellow mouth. How creative of you.”

 

“I didn’t name her,” Minseok laughs, shaking his head. “I grew up around here, she belongs to one of my neighbors. But they just lock her out, leave her food out on the porch, don’t really care when she comes back or not. I consider myself her true owner.”

 

“Why don’t you just take her?” Baekhyun asks, still staring at the way Ipno guides Minseok’s hand to scratch all the right places, her eyes shut adorably in contentment. “She clearly loves you.”

 

“Trust me, if I could, then I already would’ve,” Minseok sighs. “But my dorm wouldn’t allow it. Besides, she likes it here. Got her own routine, got her little stray friends. I couldn’t take that away from her.”

 

At that, Baekhyun smiles to himself. Minseok stands back up, stepping out of the alley. “I’m gonna go buy some milk, for her. Keep her company, would you? You two should get to know each other.” He smiles at Baekhyun, who, not left with much choice, agrees.

 

As he waits, he tries holding his closed hand out to Ipno the way Minseok did. But she’s not as outwardly affectionate with Baekhyun, which he decides makes sense; he doesn’t pursue her when she retracts, just sits patiently, willing himself to earn her trust. Eventually she steps closer to him, and with just a little more patience, she allows him to give her a light scritch behind her ears. Baekhyun feels a grin involuntarily spreading on his face, thinking that this was very much worth the wait.

 

Minseok soon comes back out with a small saucer of milk, that Ipno eagerly begins lapping at. The two of them stay a while, just watching her, petting her, talking about her. Once in a while Baekhyun takes a glance around the seedy, run-down looking neighborhood, wondering what it was like for Minseok to grow up, here.

 

At some point though, before he can ask, Minseok suddenly seems to remember something and slaps a hand to his forehead. “Shit, Baek, you had hagwon. We should go.”

 

“It’s okay, I didn’t actually wanna go. I just said that to be funny,” Baekhyun interjects, touching Minseok on the arm. When Minseok looks back at him, eyes flickering with those curious flames of his, Baekhyun’s first instinct is to withdraw his hand. But Minseok just smiles.

 

“I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.” Yet he doesn’t sound anywhere near refusing Baekhyun.

 

“You go to SNU, Minseok, if anyone gave a shit about who I was hanging around, I’m sure you’d pass,” Baekhyun says with a laugh. “Can we just keep doing this?”

 

“Doing what?” Minseok is still smiling. “We’re  _doing_ pretty much nothing.”

 

Baekhyun looks back at him, and feels himself beam, feeling indescribably pleased. For no reason at all. “Exactly. Let’s just keep doing nothing.”

 

The sun’s beginning to set, and Minseok gives a short huff. “I can’t say no to that face, Sunbeam.”

 

Ipno scampers off soon after, as if to tell them to go enjoy their time together. At least, that’s what Baekhyun imagines to himself as he watches her disappear beyond the trash cans. So they go to a nearby park, sit down on a bench, and continue to do nothing. And that’s how Baekhyun likes it.

 

“Cold?” Minseok asks when he sees Baekhyun huddling to himself, and before Baekhyun can reply, Minseok is shucking off his coat, and propping it on Baekhyun’s shoulders.

 

“Thanks.” Baekhyun smiles to himself, or he  _thinks_ he’s smiling to himself, until Minseok takes him gently by the chin.

 

“You’ve been grinning like that, nonstop,” Minseok points out, and it’s only then that Baekhyun realizes how taut the balls of his cheeks feel. “What’s got you so on top of the world?”

 

“I don’t know,” Baekhyun replies, honestly, rubbing his stiff cheeks. “Lately, I’m just… Happy.”

 

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Minseok muses. “But, I can tell. You’re way different than I thought you’d be when I first saw you in that basement, looking like a deer in the headlights. I thought we were getting another Kyungsoo, at first.”

 

“But instead I’m more like a Jongdae?” Baekhyun says back with a chuckle. Minseok seems to think about it, before he shakes his head.

 

“Nah. You’re your own unique category.” Minseok pulls out a pack of cigarettes along with a lighter. He puts one in his mouth, lights the end with his hand guarding the flame, and breathes in. “I’m glad you’re having fun, though. What’s music if you don’t enjoy yourself?”

 

“Yeah.” Baekhyun holds onto the openings of Minseok’s jacket, bringing the fabric tighter around himself. “I think it’s not just the music, though.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Minseok says more as a statement than a question, his words curling around the smoke. Baekhyun barely manages a shrug.

 

“I have this weird thing. It’s like...the happier I feel, and the more comfortable things become, the more...suspicious I get, I guess you could say. I get afraid, that I’ll lose this feeling, one day. You ever feel that way, or is it just me?” 

 

He bites his lip, wonders if he’s saying too much, if he’s making things weird. But Minseok’s expression doesn’t change, he just continues to gaze at Baekhyun intently, never once indicating that he isn’t taking him seriously. Baekhyun finally exhales, “Nah, of course you haven’t. Sorry, I just...never really stayed in one place, too long.”

 

“Oh, no. I get it.” Minseok nods, takes another puff of his cigarette. He concludes, “You were passed around a bunch, huh.”

 

“I guess it’s obvious,” Baekhyun says with a chuckle. “Yeah. Now that I’m finishing school, it won’t matter as much, but. I just start worrying, about  _something_ happening, something I can’t predict. That’ll make everything that makes me feel like,  _me,_ suddenly go away.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Yeah, what, you callin’ me fake?” Minseok chuckles, finally getting Baekhyun to crack a smile. “But,” Minseok looks up at the few stars that are in the sky, “I think that’s just the nature of things. Yeah, the best possible scenario is that you meet a bunch of people, people you get along with…” He pauses, “or in our case, people you don’t  _always_ get along with but you  _usually_ do.” Both of them share a chuckle, before Minseok continues. “And once you got it, it’s there for life.”

 

“But?” Baekhyun says, knowing that this isn’t going to end so sweetly, so conveniently.

 

“But,” Minseok says on beat, with a shrug, “that’s not always life’s plan.” He flicks the burnt ash off the butt of his cigarette, leaning forward. “I feel that sometimes, you’re just meant to cross paths with someone for a set amount of time. Whether it’s ten months, ten days, ten years. Ten minutes, I dunno. Whatever’s long enough for you to help each other grow, and to learn, before you have to move on.”

 

“Ah.” Baekhyun nods, but his expression gives away that he isn’t too happy about that. Upon seeing that, Minseok cracks a sympathetic little smile.

 

“You don’t like that, sorry.” It goes quiet between them, as they let the words settle in, and as Minseok grinds the end of his cigarette against the dirty metal of the bench. At last, he adds, “If it’s meant to be, though, I think people will find their way back to each other, if they lose their way.”

 

This makes Baekhyun smile, and he nods again, out of genuine acceptance, this time. To lighten the mood, Minseok jokingly asks, “So, what, you got a favorite out of all of us? The one you’d miss the most, if disaster happens to strike?”

 

Baekhyun looks back at Minseok, slightly wide-eyed, and in that moment they catch each other’s gaze. Minseok has  _that_ look on his face, the one that makes it seem like he can already read everything going on through Baekhyun’s mind, and is just asking questions to pull the words from Baekhyun’s mouth. In lieu of an answer, Baekhyun just gets trapped in that stare, his voice caught in his throat before he finally forces himself to snap out of his own reverie.

 

“No,” he fumbles, and Minseok titters.

 

“You’re cute sometimes, Baek.” Without taking notice to the effect he has on Baekhyun, whether it’s through his words, his mannerisms, or just one look from his eyes, he ruffles Baekhyun’s hair before hoisting himself off of his seat. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

 

It’s only later that night, much after Baekhyun has said goodbye to Minseok and he’s replaying the conversation within his mind, that he realizes he never mentioned anything about losing _people._ Minseok somehow just knew.

 

**⋯**

 

“I was thinking,” Minseok starts one day, as he leans against the counter. Junmyeon has business downtown, and Minseok and Jongdae are always happy to watch over the store for extra money. “Maybe we should think of a new name.”

 

“For the group?” Chanyeol asks from where he’s seated at the grand piano with Kyungsoo, clumsily playing out simple melodies that Baekhyun taught him. Minseok nods.

 

“The store name is fine, it’s solid. But I thought we could try being more creative.” Baekhyun looks towards the large glass windows, at the ‘Chungmuro Music Store’ label that’s stuck onto it, right above the open sign. He kisses his teeth, thinking that even though it’s a bit vague, he likes the name; it brings him comfort.

 

“But I like it,” Kyungsoo says right as Baekhyun thinks this to himself, making Baekhyun give a slight smile. “It’s a name people can recognize.”

 

“It’s too overdone,” Jongdae protests. “The store isn’t even  _in_ Chungmuro! We should have an English name.”

 

“You barely know any English,” Kyungsoo retorts.

 

“That could be a good idea,” Minseok says before Jongdae can react to that, tapping his chin. “Anyone got any suggestions?”

 

“ _T_ _he Big League,”_ Chanyeol says proudly in slow, heavily accented English.

 

“We’re a music group, not a baseball team,” Baekhyun snorts. Chanyeol just huffs, jerks a thumb towards Baekhyun mockingly.

 

“It’s not from baseball, it’s chewing gum! Sehun and I saw a guy selling them by one of the American bases.” Baekhyun just stares back at him as Kyungsoo drops his face into his palm.

 

“I’m trying really hard, but,” Baekhyun shakes his head. “I can’t see how you think that makes it better.”

 

Chanyeol pouts. “I just wanted to contribute.” 

 

The five of them give a low hum as they brainstorm, but nothing they come up with seems to stick. Jongdae finally claps his hands together.

 

“I got it.” They all look at him, curious eyes and open ears. Jongdae looks rather proud of himself, and part of Baekhyun thinks that this can’t be good. “It’s obvious. What jazz group are we most like? Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers. And so—”

 

“Don’t say it,” Kyungsoo warns.

 

“—Our name should be,” Jongdae continues, ignoring Kyungsoo. He pauses for effect, then spreads his hands as if to display the invisible letters in the air. “Kim Jongdae & The Jazz Messengers. Kim Jongdae & The Mess, for short.”

 

The search for a new name is dropped as the rest of the boys head to the basement, making Jongdae watch over the store by himself.

 

**⋯**

 

“Joohyun-noona, no need to make any for me tonight,” Baekhyun says as he passes by the kitchen. “I’m going to the music store.”

 

“Are you sure? You don’t need to eat?” Joohyun asks, cautiously. Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

“This’ll do,” he says with a smile, grabbing an apple from the basket on the counter. “See you.” He heads for the door as he takes a bite, when he sees his aunt coming down the stairs. He nods his head, expecting to be able to slip out right after—but today, she stops him.

 

“Baekhyun,” she says sternly, “your school called, and said you haven’t been there for at least three of your independent study sessions. Is this true?”

 

Baekhyun stops chewing, swallows hard. “Ajeomma, I…” There’s really nothing he can say, other than the truth. He looks down at the polished floors underneath his feet, thinking it’d be better to remain silent than babble like a fool. Finally, he answers, “Yeah. I’ve been meeting with my music group.”

 

“Music group? Is that an extracurricular?” His aunt continues to question him, making Baekhyun feel like he’s under interrogation.

 

“No…” Baekhyun finds himself not really knowing how to explain, when, thankfully, he’s saved by a third party.

 

“Just let him go, dear,” another voice joins in on the conversation, and Baekhyun looks up to see Joohyun’s father, who’s emerged from his office. Baekhyun’s eyes widen, he didn’t know his uncle had returned from overseas. He immediately bows at a stark angle, about to formally introduce himself, when Mr. Bae stops him with a hard pat on the back. “No need for that, Baekhyun.”

 

“Baekhyun,” Joohyun’s mother continues, “you know this kind of behavior is inexcusable. We’re hosting you here in the hopes you can work towards a better future.”

 

“Bitna, he knows. We should be glad he’s just out playing music, not becoming some hoodlum.” The man motions for Baekhyun to shoo. “Go on, boy, just don’t shirk on your studies anymore. And thanks for keeping my Joohyun company, here.”

 

Baekhyun looks at the adults in front of him hesitantly, and when his aunt seems to comply, he hesitantly begins to make his way to the door. “I’m sorry, Ajeomma, Ahjussi. I’ll be better.”

 

He should have known better, that it couldn’t be this easy, this simple. Right as he lets himself out through the front door, thinking he’s gotten off scot-free, he hears Joohyun’s mother make one final remark.

 

“I suppose he isn’t to blame. Not when his mother set such a bad example for him.”

 

The words burn into Baekhyun’s skin, and he pauses, halfway out the door. But he doesn’t look back; it’s not worth it. He just replays the remark over and over in his head as he heads over to Junmyeon’s store, his blood boiling by the time he gets there.

 

⁂

 

 _“Never saw the sun shining so bright, never saw things going oh-so right,”_ Jongdae sings whimsically, backed by the gentle simmer of Chanyeol’s hi-hat along with the swish of wire brushes against snare. Baekhyun feels stiff in the shoulders, still upset by what happened earlier at the house, upset a bit further by the fact that his fingers aren’t responding as well as he’d like, and upset even more by the disappointment that Minseok isn’t here today. Stupid Minseok.

 

_“Blue days, all of them gone… Nothin’ but blue skies, from now on.”_

 

From then on it’s Baekhyun’s turn to ad-lib, and something within him decides  _fuck it,_ and he snaps. He starts playing far more aggressively than he ever has attempted before, busting out atonal improvisations, hitting combinations of keys that he’d normally never choose and creating dissonant harmonies that strangely make sense.

 

He doesn’t pay attention to how Kyungsoo reacts to his behavior as he strums at his bass, far too occupied with getting this awful scum of a feeling out of his veins. Throwing any care he has left to the wind, he begins gliding his hands up the keyboard on every off beat, making even Jongdae and Chanyeol look up.

 

“Whoa, who got on your bad side, today?” Chanyeol says over his drumming, and Baekhyun can’t believe it was that obvious. When they finish, Baekhyun heaves a heavy sigh, his hands red and throbbing after raking repeatedly over the terrain of the keys but his mood feeling slightly improved. Kyungsoo wanders over, leaning against the piano with curious eyes.

 

“That was nice. You should play like that, more often,” Kyungsoo comments. “I’ve never heard you sound so mean, it was dirty, you know. In a good way.” Baekhyun smiles.

 

“You like it dirty, huh, Kyungsoo,” he jeers, half-laughing and half-yelping when Kyungsoo hits him on the arm, before he goes back to his side of the room. 

 

They only practice for a bit more, just until Jongdae has to head to work. Baekhyun wonders how Jongdae hasn’t been fired yet, with how many times he’s run late because of a rather famous mantra of “ _Just one more tune and I’ll go.”_ After chatting for a bit, Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, and Baekhyun head upstairs to go browse through the new shipments Junmyeon got, but stop in their tracks when they see Jongdae’s still here, talking lowly with Junmyeon.

 

“What’s going on?” Chanyeol asks. Junmyeon and Jongdae just look at them, then back at each other, sharing the same unintelligible look on their faces. That’s when Baekhyun starts to make out the radio broadcast they were listening to.

 

_“—noon, hundreds of university students protested against the policies of President Park Chung Hee's government. After staging protest rallies and holding silent marches in Seoul, the police retaliated swiftly, breaking up many of the rallies, beating several students and arresting 50 young men and women. Further details will b—”_

 

It settles in on them like a shroud of fog, makes them feel like they’ve entered a dream. Baekhyun  _wishes_ it were a dream. But it’s real, it’s all real, the report buzzing throughout the room and overpowering the record Junmyeon has on, the way Baekhyun’s breath is becoming slight, and the nauseating churn of his stomach.

 

“Was Minseok...there?” Kyungsoo manages to ask, being the only one brave enough to address the elephant in the room. Junmyeon shakes his head, before twisting the knob on the radio to shut it off.

 

“We don’t know. But, you guys shouldn’t worry about it.” He gives his soft, now wavering smile, but Baekhyun can see the worry that’s laced in his eyes. To Jongdae, Junmyeon reassures, “Go. It’ll be fine.”

 

Jongdae doesn’t respond, until finally, he turns and heads out without so much as a word. Baekhyun swallows, thinking that Jongdae’s silence says more than anything he possibly could have conveyed in words. Junmyeon raps his fingertips against the countertop, before telling Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Chanyeol, “I think you guys should head home for the night.”

 

“...But what ab—” Baekhyun begins to say, wanting desperately to know what would happen if,  _if,_ Minseok had been arrested. But Kyungsoo and Chanyeol are taking each of his arms in theirs before he can finish, chorusing their goodnights to Junmyeon before pulling Baekhyun out of the shop.

 

“Guys, aren’t you worried about Minseok!” Baekhyun says exasperatedly once they’re out of there, the jingle of the little bell resounding like a biting insult towards their lack of knowledge, lack of closure. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol both share the same look that’s a mixture of sympathy and discomfort.

 

“Of course we are, don’t be an idiot,” Kyungsoo says, pushing Baekhyun a little on the chest. “But this isn’t any of our business, we’re only in high school. If Minseok needs help, he’ll call Junmyeon, or Jongdae. And Junmyeon will feel better if we’re not around when— _if,_ he gets any sort of call.”

 

“But…” Baekhyun finds himself unable to argue, he just  _wants_ to. Kyungsoo sighs, then places a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder.

 

“I know how you feel. But Minseok knows how to take care of himself.” He manages a smile. “He wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on him, easily.”

 

With that, Kyungsoo heads up the slope, leaving Chanyeol and Baekhyun to themselves. Baekhyun can only gaze back in through the windows of the shop, at Junmyeon’s lone silhouette at the counter, waiting anxiously by the telephone.

 

“Hey, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, getting Baekhyun to finally tear his eyes away. “Wanna come over to my place? If you don’t feel like being alone.”

 

Baekhyun looks up at Chanyeol, his smile so unassuming and his shoulders so broad, radiating the comfort Baekhyun thinks he needs. He gets himself to smile back, and nods. “Sure. Thanks, Chanyeol.”

 

⁂

 

Chanyeol’s house is just down the street. It’s a tiny, more traditional-looking place, and Baekhyun’s surprised to be greeted by an unexpectedly noisy family the second he steps in through the entryway.

 

“Oppa!” “Hyung!” A flurry of voices greet Chanyeol, and Baekhyun can only watch as Chanyeol’s three younger siblings flock to him.

 

“Hey, guys,” Chanyeol says enthusiastically, bending down to match their heights before he gestures to Baekhyun. “This is my friend, Baekhyun. Baekhyun, these are my siblings—Sunyoung, Sooyoung, and Jisung.” Baekhyun smiles and waves at each of them, thinking that it was nice to see Chanyeol, who is the youngest of the jazz group, assume this type of role at home. It suited him.

 

Baekhyun is assimilated into this family rather fast—in the midst of side-stepping to prevent the kids from ramming into him as they run around, he meets Chanyeol’s parents, a kind couple who welcome him warmly. While Chanyeol goes off to help his mother prepare dinner, Baekhyun finds himself bombarded with the kids’ requests for him to play with them. When Chanyeol pokes his head back into the living room to call everyone to eat, he laughs heartily at the way Jisung has climbed onto Baekhyun’s back, with Sunyoung and Sooyoung pulling on each of his arms while running their mouths about the rules of their game of pretend.

 

“Chanyeol, you and Baekhyun can go eat in your room,” Chanyeol’s mother offers, holding out two hefty stainless steel bowls, filled to the brim with rice and vegetables. “Baekhyun, I’m sorry. I know it’s not true bibimbap without any beef, but I hope an egg will do.”

 

“Please, it’s fine, Ajeomma,” Baekhyun tries to insist, looking at the bowls laid out on the table. None of them have eggs on them, only Baekhyun’s and Chanyeol’s. It’s hard for him not to feel guilty, that this family is giving him something that they probably wanted for themselves. Although it's not quite under the same circumstances, it makes him think of Joohyun.

 

“You two are at an important age, you need to eat. Now, go on,” Mrs. Park says, jokingly swatting at Baekhyun with her dishcloth. “Chanyeol, get Baekhyun more if he finishes.”

 

“Okay, Mom,” Chanyeol says obediently, before he leads Baekhyun to his small bedroom, kicking aside the bedding that must fit himself and all his siblings on it. The two of them set down their trays, and although Chanyeol immediately gets to work stuffing his face, Baekhyun can only pick at his food. The bustle of Chanyeol’s tight-knit home was able to distract Baekhyun from what he heard on the radio earlier, but only temporarily. Now, once again, all he can think about is the idea that Junmyeon is still there, waiting to get a call. Or worse, if he got one, already.

 

Chanyeol suddenly taps his spoon against Baekhyun’s tray, “Hey, my mom’s cooking not good enough for you, rich boy?” When Baekhyun looks up, wide-eyed, Chanyeol laughs. “Just kidding. Look, you gotta take your mind off of Minseok. He’s given us scares before, but he’s smart enough not to get thrown in jail.”

 

“I don’t get how you and Kyungsoo are so calm about it,” Baekhyun mumbles, mixing his rice around aimlessly. “Maybe it really is just something I have to get used to.”

 

“Well,” Chanyeol chuckles, “Kyungsoo isn’t as unbothered as he makes it seem. I’m pretty sure he’s at study sesh right now, burying himself in homework to take his mind off of it. When he’s stressed, he can stay there until four in the morning.”

 

“Have you guys tried telling Minseok that you don’t want him there when things get dangerous?” Baekhyun asks. “Getting arrested is one thing, but I always hear about how the police crushes these rallies, using tear gas, beating students…”

 

Chanyeol picks at his teeth, humming in contemplation. “Of course we’ve told him, but there’s only so much we can do. Like, yeah it’s dangerous, but at the end of the day it’s his life, and we’ve all had to accept that he’s serious about what he does.”

 

He stops for a second, crossing his arms. “There was one time though, when Jongdae and Minseok had a really bad argument about it. Minseok got interrogated by the police, and narrowly avoided arrest by the skin of his teeth...Jongdae was livid, kept calling Minseok a reckless idiot, demanding him to stop. But Minseok wouldn’t back down. And you can imagine, with the two of them and their pride, they stopped talking for a while. When we all finally sat down to play together for the first time since, it was...scary.”

 

“Playing together was scary?” Baekhyun asks, feeling a bit unnerved when Chanyeol nods.

 

“I can’t even describe it. It was like, whenever Kyungsoo and I thought that those two couldn’t get any louder, they’d do it. Just Jongdae on his sax, Minseok on his trumpet, competing with each other, screamin’ at each other. It was like they were throwing punches.” Chanyeol playfully puts up his fists, throwing little swings into the air to get his point across. “They were so busy duking it out, they didn’t even care when Soo and I stopped playing. We just couldn’t keep up. Only after it ended, when they were all breathless and dizzy, did they finally apologize to each other...but that’s the last time we asked Minseok to stop protesting.”

 

Chanyeol’s story sends chills up Baekhyun’s spine, as he can only imagine what that session must have been like. His ears ring just thinking about it. His increasing feeling of unease must have been written all over his face, because Chanyeol seems to regret what he just shared. “Okay, I shouldn’t have told you that. But no, Baek, really. Minseok will be fine. Gotta have faith, you know?”

 

“I guess.” Baekhyun thinks about it, and feels some of the weight of the cinder blocks tied to his ankles lighten up, his heart feel less like someone has it in an iron grip. He smiles at Chanyeol, and nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

“I’m  _definitely_ right,” Chanyeol grins his same, toothy grin that reassures Baekhyun that there really is a chance that he could walk into the music shop tomorrow, and have everything be the exact same as it always was. He forces himself to dig into his food after that to distract himself, and when he’s blown through his first and second helping, he then busies himself with playing with Chanyeol’s siblings.

 

Everything will be the same, he tells himself over and over, again. He already knew what Minseok did was dangerous—nothing had really changed.

 

After saying his farewells to Chanyeol and his family, he steps back out into the crisp night air, breathing in deep as he weighs his options, which are very few, then out.

 

At last, even though he knows he shouldn’t, he takes the route home that’ll allow him to pass by the music shop. He passes by the marquee of the movie theater, the bank, the laundromat. He sees from afar that the shop is still dimly lit, and his pace automatically quickens to a brisk walk, then a jog, dreading the sight of Junmyeon, still alone at the counter.

 

But once he’s in front of the glass storefront, ready to be faced with heartache and anxiety, his eyes widen to see two people inside.

 

It’s Junmyeon and Minseok, who, as far as Baekhyun can see, looks unharmed, thankfully. It unfolds before Baekhyun like a scene from a silent movie, the two of them framed by the windows that separate Baekhyun as an outsider. They exchange a few words, their expressions unreadable, before Junmyeon pulls Minseok in for a hug. 

 

It’s like a dam within him breaks, and Baekhyun feels relief flood through him. His breath is fogging up the glass, obscuring his vision; he doesn’t realize when Minseok is turning in his direction, and by the time he realizes, Minseok has already caught sight of him. Baekhyun immediately steps out of view, back against the brick wall, his heart about to beat out of his chest.

 

He stays like that a few minutes, until he hears the door open, that same bell taunting him. He doesn’t look up, just listens to the footsteps that come his way, then Minseok’s amused remark of, “Sorry, store’s closed.”

 

Baekhyun glances at him, unsure of how to begin. Whether to go on about how nerve-wracked he was, or to just jump into how glad he is that Minseok is okay. Minseok seems to correctly interpret his reticence, because he’s now sighing, carding his fingers through his hair. Baekhyun’s expecting Minseok to chastise him, to tell him that he shouldn’t be worrying about him, that what Minseok does on his own time is none of Baekhyun’s business. But instead, Minseok just points his thumb over his shoulder and asks, “Want to take a walk?”

 

Baekhyun feels his mouth fight a smile, until he gives in, lets his alleviation spread across his face. He gives a playful little shrug, “What if I have hagwon?”

 

Minseok grins back. “Then it looks like you’re ditching.”

 

⁂

 

They head up to the roof of the building, where they sit side by side behind the safety railing, looking out at the skyline of the city off in the distance.

 

“So…” Baekhyun starts, but Minseok already seems to have read his mind.

 

“I wasn’t involved in today’s rally,” Minseok explains, and Baekhyun feels a weight get lifted off his chest. Minseok smirks. “If that’s what you were wondering.”

 

“Well, duh,” Baekhyun says, pushing Minseok on the arm in a pathetic attempt to feign any sort of anger. “I got freaked out, when I heard how many people got arrested.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Minseok says through a yawn, and Baekhyun feels his eyes narrow.

 

“Fuck off, I will,” he huffs, leaning his elbows on the railing. He rests his cheek in his palm, before rolling his eyes. “But fine, whatever, do what you want. The guys told me it’s no use telling you to stop, so I won’t.”

 

“Nice to know you’re all talking about me while I’m gone,” Minseok simpers. “Well, that makes things easier on me.”

 

“Will you at least tell me if there’s a specific reason you’re so involved?” Baekhyun asks. “This is a big part of you, but we’ve never really talked about it.” He gazes back at Minseok, who looks like he’s deep in thought from the question. Like he’s never thought of one specific reason, or that the reason is just so much larger than words.

 

“Do you like the way things are run, here?” Minseok finally asks. “With Yushin, with us being under martial law. All the censorship, going on.” Baekhyun licks his lips, thinking about it. He hates to sound so overly privileged, but the Yushin Constitution never directly affected  _him,_ other than the occasional inconveniences he’d run into with the strict censorship or the policing going on in the streets. He’s never voted so he hasn’t experienced the injustice that others felt towards the elections, and he’s never been on the suffering end of the economy.

 

“I understand why people are against it,” he finally replies, “but with the life I have, I’ve never ran into trouble with the government, never had the need to take personal issues with it. I came from a wealthy family, I never really delved into politics. My biggest problem right now is honestly that I’ll probably never see a Hollywood movie.” 

 

Minseok chuckles, “That’s a legitimate concern. I’d like to see one too, one day.”

 

“But that’s not why you organize,” Baekhyun speculates, and Minseok remains poker-faced.

 

“Well,” Minseok starts, “I think it’s up to the future generation, to carve out the country they want. And when I look at this country we’re in right now, I don’t see a place that’s safe for me, or for others. We have a dictator who’s wearing the mask of a president, and the fastest way to get our society to come together, and use its voice, is for someone to be martyred.” Minseok’s voice grows hardened, carving his strong words into the atmosphere, leaving their permanent mark in Baekhyun’s memory. “It takes the death of someone innocent to get people to realize their authorities don’t truly value the lives that it vows to protect. I just want that to end, as soon as possible. I don’t want to just sit around, while other people put in the work.”

 

Baekhyun’s gaze goes solemn as he fixates on Minseok and the words he weaves. Now, he can see why Yixing and Minseok’s fellow classmates look up to him. But still, there’s something beneath the surface of it all, that still tells Baekhyun that there’s more to be understood.

 

“I feel like you speak from personal experience,” Baekhyun observes. 

 

Minseok gives a half-smile, one that matches the half-hearted little shrug of his shoulders. He pulls out a pack, clicks his tongue in distaste when he sees he only has one cigarette left, before saying offhandedly, “You know, I had a sister.”

 

With the nonchalance in his tone, Baekhyun at first thinks that Minseok is just changing the subject. Not yet realizing Minseok’s choice of words, he asks, “Really? What’s she like?”

 

“Can’t really tell you. All I know for sure is that she was a working woman.”

 

“A working woman? I mean...Joohyun’s a working woman,” Baekhyun starts, blinking a couple times in confusion when the realization dawns on him. He pauses, before whispering, “Oh.”

 

“Yup. She didn’t want to be, though,” Minseok says after his cigarette is lit, glowing a faint orange that barely makes it through the dark blue of the night. “My family’s always been poor, especially right after the war. Once I was born, apparently, my folks were barely surviving. So my sister had to find work when she was 15, she met with an agent who promised her a job, a paycheck, even a living space. Lucky, huh?”

 

“It’s too good to be true,” Baekhyun concludes, already feeling a trickle of unease in his stomach. Minseok’s face still doesn’t break, doesn’t make even the tiniest form of a reaction. He’s numb. And it scares Baekhyun.

 

“I didn’t find out what she was really doing until I was older.” Minseok takes a drag, keeping his gaze straight ahead, eyes locked on the haze of white that dances off his breath. “She was at some  _keejichon_ red light district, by an American military base. When I found out, I’d always try going there to see her, only to be given the boot because I was just some broke kid. I just couldn’t understand it, why she’d do that to herself. Why she’d want to be some U.N. madam, her whole life.

 

“But eventually, I understood, better. We’re told how those women are the true patriots of this country, and the president is still contributing millions to that industry because it helps keep our economy afloat. Either that, or we’re just that desperate to keep the Americans here. Whatever it is, she was coerced into it, because our government doesn’t give a damn about its citizens beyond what it says on paper.”

 

“So...what happened?” Baekhyun asks, hesitantly. As if it needed specification, he tacks on, “To her.” He asks this, but he doesn’t know how much he wants the answer, if at all. Minseok doesn’t seem to be interested in giving any further details anyway, which Baekhyun considers both a blessing and a curse.

 

“It’s complicated. But that’s probably why I don’t have much faith in the state. I don’t think it’ll change, not on its own,” Minseok wraps up, his tone as level-headed and matter-of-fact as when he had begun.

 

With this clean telling of a clearly messy story, Baekhyun remorsefully gets what he wanted, to understand Minseok better. But there still lies that stinging worry in his chest, for that one thing that Minseok is neglecting and that Baekhyun and their friends are worried about—himself.

 

“Well, I don’t want  _you_ to be the next one martyred,” Baekhyun mutters, tearing his eyes off of Minseok, as if he’s in fear of being crushed by his overwhelming resolve. He tips his head back, opts to look up at the sky instead, and holds up three fingers. “Just don’t get yourself hurt, arrested, or killed. That’s all I ask.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Minseok concedes. “But fine, I’ll be more careful.”

 

“I mean it,” Baekhyun whines, making Minseok laugh.

 

“So do I! After all, a life where I don’t get to pick up my trumpet, play some tunes with you guys, hardly sounds like a life I’d like to live.” Baekhyun cracks a smile at that, and closes his eyes, feeling the night breeze touch against his skin and make his bangs float off his forehead.

 

Satisfied, he says, “Sometimes you  _do_ say stuff I can get on board with.” Minseok snorts, lightly jabbing at Baekhyun’s temple with an index finger.

 

“So, did you guys have a good session, today? Junmyeon told me you stormed in earlier, looking ticked off,” Minseok says, and Baekhyun gives an exasperated little sigh, remembering full well.

 

“My aunt just said something that got under my skin. She knows how to do that,” Baekhyun replies. “It’s really nothing new.”

 

“Huh.” Minseok tilts his head to the side, before he gestures towards Baekhyun. “Care to tell me more about your situation, now that I’ve shared a pretty big piece about myself?”

 

Baekhyun glances at Minseok, the raise of his eyebrows making Minseok chuckle. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t have to.”

 

“No, no,” Baekhyun assures, “it’s okay. Nobody’s really asked me before, is all.”

 

He runs his hands against his jeans, as he contemplates on where to begin. “My dad was a marine. Even before he passed away, I barely ever saw him because he was always away on duty. So I never really knew him...when I—can I tell you something a little strange, and kinda dark?” Baekhyun stops mid-sentence, as if to get Minseok’s permission.

 

“Strange and dark, you’ve got my attention,” Minseok quips, and Baekhyun huffs through his nose, now thankful for Minseok’s ability to always remain unwavered.

 

“It’s like...when I heard he died in Vietnam, I didn’t even cry. I feel like I accepted it, far too fast. As horrible as it sounds.” Baekhyun stops for a second, gauging Minseok’s reaction, expecting judgment but instead being greeted by pure attentiveness. He gives a trite little laugh. “It’s not that I wasn’t sad, but, I don’t know. I think if I knew what it was like to actually have him around, then it would have been different.”

 

“I mean, you can’t be as sad about losing something you didn’t really have,” Minseok considers. Baekhyun nods.

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I felt like.”

 

“I’m sorry. Well...what about your mom?” says Minseok, his stare softening. “I’m guessing she wasn’t really around, either.”

 

“Ding ding ding,” Baekhyun sings, jokingly. He keeps up his smile, not wanting to bog down the mood more than what’s already been done. And, strangely, he finds it easy, to just lay down all the facts for Minseok, to get everything off his chest. “I knew even less about her. She was apparently a fashion designer, or dreamt of being one. My grandparents would tell me she was always a troublemaker, could never sit still. I never got all the details, but my guess is that it was hard on her, being stuck at home with my dad never around. She probably wanted more fulfillment in her life.”

 

It goes quiet between the two of them. Minseok seems to have already pieced together the framework of this story, as he asks, “When did she leave?”

 

Baekhyun smirks. “When I was four. Nobody directly told me, but I grew up overhearing my relatives talking about how she went off with a Japanese soldier.” He scratches his neck, deliberating his next words. “I know this all might make her sound bad, she  _does_ sound bad, but...somehow, I don’t resent her for it. I always liked to believe that maybe she had no choice, or that there was a reason why she didn’t take me along.” He finds his voice losing its direction as he begins to ramble, and punctuates the tangent with a light sigh.

 

“But, anyway, that’s how I ended up going from place to place, household to household. My mom didn’t really have any family on her side, so I mainly grew up around my dad’s relatives, or friends of his relatives. And none of them were really thrilled to feed the shame left behind by my mom, who ran away with some  _jjokbari_ while my dad was out dying for his country.”

 

“Wow,” Minseok ruffles his own hair, his subtle way of showing his frustration as he finds himself at a loss for words. “None of that mess is your fault, though.”

 

“I guess...” Baekhyun doesn’t finish that thought, his voice dying out into nothing more than a whisper that hangs in the air. Minseok, who lets nothing past him, takes notice of Baekhyun’s sudden reticence.

 

“Baek?” he says softly. “Was there something else?”

 

“No,” Baekhyun denies, averting his gaze to count the wires he sees, hanging amongst all of the buildings. “It’s nothing.”

 

“Alright.” Minseok crosses his legs, before flicking his dead cigarette butt off of the roof. “Well, if it were something...you don’t have to tell me everything. But you  _can_ tell me anything. Understand?”

 

Baekhyun’s throat begins to feel dry, and as he opens his mouth to say something, only a low fizz of his voice escapes. Without thinking, he whispers, “You wouldn’t look at me the same.”

 

“Even if that were the case, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

 

“It is, Minseok.” Baekhyun chews on his lower lip, as memories from long past, feelings he’s had to repress, all begin to surface, intrude on the flimsy barrier of denial that he had wrongly mistaken for an undeserved sense of peace. And none of it is made easier by the sight of Minseok, his stare piercing holes into Baekhyun, who feels like he’s being ripped open by the temptation to let everything overflow. He just purses his lips as he meets Minseok’s gaze, as if the silence can speak in his place.

 

Finally, he sits up, cradling a knee to his chest. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he warns, and Minseok holds up his hands.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies. Baekhyun knows he shouldn’t believe him so readily, but he wants to, and he does. And he can’t understand it.

 

“When I was younger, after my grandparents passed away,” Baekhyun says softly, “and while I was staying with my dad’s sister...some things sort of happened, and my relatives started to suspect I was, um…” He trails off, unsure of how to choose the most detached, harmless wording, before he clears his throat. “That I was… Funny.”

 

“Funny,” Minseok repeats, and Baekhyun lowers his eyelids, absently trying to make the distant lights of the city go blurry, the colors blending together.

 

“Queer.” He doesn’t see Minseok ever so slightly raise his eyebrows in realization, he doesn’t want to. His mind is running a mile a minute, piecing together an explanation for himself, to convince Minseok it’s not actually what it sounds like.

 

“Oh. I see,” Minseok says, the judgmental bite Baekhyun had been expecting in his voice, missing. Gone. Instead, it’s all soft corners, light waves of curiosity rolling off his tongue. Even more so when he asks, “What made them think that?”

 

With that question, comes the spark of memories that Baekhyun had left untouched for as long as he could. Where could he even begin? How all the boys would look up from the marbles scattered on the street when Kim Taeyeon would walk past, all of them except Baekhyun. Whenever Choi Minho would be working at his parents’ restaurant, and flash Baekhyun that charming smile before giving him a piece of candy from the bowl that was always on the counter. The amused look on the adults’ faces when Baekhyun chose to play with his cousins’ makeup and nice clothes, rather than kick a soccer ball with the boys in the backyard.

 

The feeling of his heart thumping in his chest when he pressed a dainty little kiss onto Kwon Hyuk’s lips, and soon after, the awful, unexplainable feeling of dread that consumed him when Hyuk pulled away, a disgusted look on his face, and announced he was going to tell everyone how Baekhyun was a  _faggot._

 

An unpleasant heat begins to prick at his skin as it all comes rushing back to him, and despite having about a million vivid answers he can give to Minseok, he instead replies curtly, “Nothing concrete. It was just...a lot of paranoia, that made caretakers even less willing to keep me, or even take me, as things spread around.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Minseok says without hesitation, making Baekhyun look up, almost bewildered by the lack of venom, the lack of hostility. He can only watch as Minseok gives a rough sigh, shaking his head in frustration at Baekhyun’s story—hopefully not the implications of it. “I hope you know, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.” Minseok blows his bangs out of his eyes, before he mumbles, “A lot of things are fucked, I know. But you’re not one of them.”

 

These words move Baekhyun more than he lets on. Not knowing how to convey that, how to articulate what he wants to say but knows he probably shouldn’t, how to let Minseok know that everything did indeed fucking suck without feeling pathetically vulnerable, he just gives up.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Baekhyun fibs, keeping his expression placid despite the tension and disconcertment stirring within him. He gives a meek shrug of his shoulders, “It was just...an unlucky situation, all around.”

 

“I’ll say.” With that, Baekhyun begins to calm down, get accustomed to the fact that Minseok isn’t hounding him. And in doing so, he almost starts to feel… Liberated. He cuts the silence with a dry laugh.

 

“Wow. I’ve said too much. I  _say_ too much around you,” he says, almost feeling light-headed as the amount of sharing he’s done tonight catches up to him. “I never thought I’d talk about that again, I made sure to carry myself so I wouldn’t have to.”

 

With Baekhyun’s small bout of laughter, Minseok finally smiles as well, and gives Baekhyun a playful little push on his shoulder. “I’m a smooth talker, but I’m also a good listener. Call me multi-talented, I guess.”

 

“Shut up,” Baekhyun trills, making Minseok paw at him more forcefully.

 

“What’d you just say?”

 

“I said shut  _up,_ you multi-talented loser.” They end up jostling each other around, pushing each other’s buttons and bickering goodnaturedly. Baekhyun stops trying to keep his voice down, and at some points he feels like his and Minseok’s breathy laughter could echo throughout the streets and freak out the neighborhood.

 

When they settle down, Baekhyun’s somehow seated closer to Minseok than he was before, and fighting the urge to drop his head onto Minseok’s waiting shoulder. It goes quiet again between the two of them, but it’s a light, comfortable silence, without even a trace of tension from earlier.

 

Until Minseok asks, gently, coolly, under his breath, “So, are you?”

 

“Hm?” Baekhyun glances at him from the side, blinking a couple of times, questioningly.

 

“I mean...are you actually queer,” Minseok says. Baekhyun’s eyes widen, a little. He makes a move to say something, but nothing more than verbal static comes out, prompting Minseok to smooth a hand up his back, reassuringly. “It doesn’t matter if you are, really. You’d still be same old Baekhyun, to me.”

 

Their faces are dangerously close right now, making Baekhyun feel short of breath as he shares Minseok’s air. His eyes roam from Minseok’s eyes as if to find some sort of escape, flitting to Minseok’s rosebud lips, back to the corners of his cat-like eyes, once more to his cupid's bow before he’s permanently affixed on those deep, black irises.

 

“I…” Baekhyun stammers, “I don’t know.” His breath hitches, and he can only repeat, “I don’t know.”

 

A small, kind smile spreads on Minseok’s lips, before he nods. “That’s okay, too.”

 

There’s a flurry of thoughts racing through Baekhyun’s head, a range of emotions gripping at his heart with all different strengths. But above all, he feels a warmth steadily form in his chest, and spread so thickly and sweetly that he can almost feel it in the tips of his fingers and the hairs on the back of his neck. It’s a warmth he’s never felt, before, never quite like this—to be told he’s accepted, unconditionally.

 

He’s smiling back at Minseok before he even realizes it. “Thanks.”

 

“It’s nothing to be thanked for,” Minseok says conclusively, placing his hands on his knees as he stands up from the ledge. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

 

He holds out a hand that Baekhyun gladly takes, letting himself get helped up in one swift motion. Before they leave the roof, though, an unexpected sound cuts through the air—

 

“Well, I’m glad to come home and see  _you_ not having a care in the world!” Both of them look down from the ledge to see a still-in-uniform Jongdae, his hands on his hips and an unimpressed look on his face as he stares back up at Minseok. “You could have maybe, I dunno, given me a call but  _no_ , by all means just camp out on my roof until I get home.”

 

“Oh, brother,” Minseok groans, before snickering at Baekhyun, “let’s get out of here before he comes up.”

 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Baekhyun laughs, already darting for the stairway, fighting Minseok over who gets to squeeze in first.

 

⋯

 

It’s a windy week in July, when tragedy strikes the Chungmuro Quintet. This tragedy takes form in a runny nose, a sore throat, and voice that resembles that of a dying frog more than it does Jongdae.

 

 _“That’s the kind of magic music we make with our lips—”_ Jongdae stops mid-lyric to let out a violent spout of coughing, making everyone in the room jump, before continuing,  _“When we kiss.”_

 

At that point the rest of group make the mutual decision to give up and stop playing, making Jongdae blink in confusion. “What?”

 

“Nobody’s gonna wanna kiss you in any way, shape or form, when you’re like that,” Kyungsoo cringes when Jongdae sniffles, loudly. “And I thought Jongdae was gross enough when he  _wasn’t_ diseased.”

 

“Yeah, you sound like shit, Jongdae,” Chanyeol snorts, and Jongdae gives a crackly, phlegm-filled sigh.

 

“Okay, okay,” Jongdae groans, too worn-out to even respond to the insults. He’s alarmingly pale, and pinches the space between his eyebrows, fighting off a headache. “I can probably manage on the sax by Friday. But for now, it looks like my voice is out of commission.” Out of nowhere, he lets out an earthshaking sneeze without even covering his mouth, making everyone shriek in disgust. 

 

Minseok makes a face, guarding his trumpet and backing away from the ticking time bomb that used to be their singer, before announcing, “Alright, so we need a new formation.” He looks around. “If Jongdae can’t sing, someone else has to cover him.”

 

“What about you, Minseok?” Chanyeol proposes, and Baekhyun raises his brows.

 

“You sing?” he asks Minseok, intrigued. He’d only ever heard Minseok hum little melodies to himself, but never sing a performance. A look of innocence pops onto Minseok’s face, his eyes even brighter and larger than normal, and he shrugs.

 

“He’s just actin’ all modest to try and get out of it,” Chanyeol pipes up. He turns to Baekhyun, “Minseok has a nice voice. It’s kinda husky, like a saxophone.”

 

“While Jongdae’s is like a bad trumpet,” Kyungsoo adds, making Jongdae flip him the bird. “Maybe you two picked the wrong instruments.”

 

“Enough,” Jongdae whines, already lying in a fetal position on the sofa. Ignoring Baekhyun’s remark of  _we’re gonna have to burn that couch,_ he asks groggily, “Minseok, will you do it?”

 

“Hm,” Minseok thinks about it, before shaking his head. “But then nobody would be able to cover me on the trumpet. So, that leaves us with…”

 

One by one, Minseok, Jongdae, Chanyeol, and even Baekhyun, slowly turn their heads towards Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo takes a while to realize it, having the nerve to stare behind him as if they could be looking at anyone else, before his eyes widen immeasurably.

 

“No,” Kyungsoo immediately refuses, and everyone goes into coercion mode.

 

“Soo, you sing great!” Chanyeol insists, “You’re always singing to yourself when you think nobody’s listening. Your English is the best of all of us, too!”

 

“And Junmyeon can cover you on the bass, it works out perfectly,” Minseok says, but Kyungsoo remains firm.

 

“No,” he repeats, and Jongdae wags an accusatory finger at him from where he’s lying down.

 

“If you don’t do this, so help me—” He fails to finish his sentence as he starts hacking his lungs out, and Baekhyun wonders if he needs to be quarantined. “—You will be turning your back on our forefathers!”

 

“No.” Kyungsoo only sounds more and more sure each time he repeats himself. Baekhyun decides it’s his turn.

 

“Kyungsoo,” he says as he gets up from his seat at the piano, his genuine smile countering Kyungsoo’s deadpan. “We wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t know you could do it. But we do, and we need you. So…” He wanders over to Kyungsoo’s corner, holding his arms out. “Please?”

 

“I’m not hugging you,” Kyungsoo replies.

 

“That’s not what—ugh.” Baekhyun rolls his eyes, taking Kyungsoo’s contrabass from him and laying it on the ground. “Come on, Soo. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, forms his lips into a pout, pulls out all the stops—until, at last, he sees Kyungsoo’s shoulders go slack, and he knows he’s won.

 

“...Fine,” Kyungsoo relents, and everyone breaks out into a celebratory cheer, putting down their instruments and forcefully surrounding a very reluctant Kyungsoo into a group hug (excluding Jongdae). Kyungsoo, still bound within everyone’s arms, can only let out a sigh. “I already regret this.”

 

“That’s what you said when you first joined, and look where it got you: you’re our frontman, now!” Minseok chitters. He then claps his hands together, “Okay. Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

 

They manage to convince Junmyeon to set aside some time during the store’s off hours to come down and practice with them. From then on, it’s more or less smooth sailing—Kyungsoo’s voice is powerful in its own way, velvety and smooth where Jongdae’s is striking and sharp. Junmyeon is more than capable of learning Kyungsoo’s parts on the contrabass, only needing to look at the charts a couple of times before he is artfully strumming out the bassline with ease.

 

“You’re really good,” Baekhyun says in awe as they finish a nearly perfect run, making Junmyeon beam at the compliment.

 

“Don’t you know? Junmyeon was accepted to music school over in America,” Minseok says, and Baekhyun nods slowly, thinking that was fitting. In the back of his mind he feels a bit sullen, wondering what could have been if Junmyeon, who happily stands behind that counter nearly ten hours a day and never once complains about it, wasn’t forced to stay in Seoul to watch over the shop.

 

“I did miss this,” Junmyeon admits, still smiling. “It’s nice to get back into the groove, every now and then.”

 

“You’re too old to talk like that, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol says, wrinkling his nose. Junmyeon’s smile falls from his face, replaced with a look of indignancy.

 

“I’m pretty much Minseok’s age!” he spouts, but Chanyeol isn’t moved.

 

“You were born in time to see the end of the war. Ancient,” Chanyeol spells out, his feet on the coffee table along with all of their discarded tangerine peels. “You sure you weren’t around when Korea was still one country?”

 

“I was ten  _years_ too late for that!”

 

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Kyungsoo muses. He digs through his backpack, pulling out a thick history textbook and thumbing through its pages. “You have a striking resemblance to Prince Yi Woo, Hyung. Or should I say,  _Ahjussi._ ” All of them lean in when Kyungsoo points at a grainy black and white photo in his textbook, of some imperial prince.

 

“Oh my  _god,”_ Baekhyun exclaims, “Junmyeon wasn’t just around for the split of the nation, he even served in the first World War!” They immediately proceed to lose it, holding up Kyungsoo’s textbook next to a frowning Junmyeon’s face and laughing until they’re in tears.

 

At that point, Dahye comes into the basement, looking at them a little funny as they’re still recovering from their outbursts of laughter. “Having fun, boys?”

 

“Oh, Dahye,” Minseok greets, raising a hand. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing much, just seeing if your guys’ frontman is alive.” Dahye looks around the room, unable to find what she’s looking for until Chanyeol nudges a lump on the couch with his foot.

 

“Barely. Take him, he’s useless in his current state,” Kyungsoo says, gesturing towards the bundle of blankets on the couch that Jongdae’s knocked out under. Chanyeol’s nudging gets more assertive, now jabbing at the lump with his shoe until Jongdae gives a muffled moan.

 

“I thought he would be, he looked awful in the morning. But he insisted on coming here to rehearse with you guys anyway,” Dahye sighs, her endearment masked by her exasperation as she crouches by the couch. “Hey, Kim Jongdae, get up.” When Jongdae refuses and just pulls the blanket around him tighter, Dahye rolls her eyes, before pulling him by the arm to sit up and then stand. Baekhyun can only admire her strength and patience, as she easily supports a cranky-looking Jongdae up the stairs and out of the room. “See you guys.”

 

They all say their goodbyes in unison, before Chanyeol snorts, “I don’t know how Jongdae ended up with Noona. She’s such a tough girl.”

 

“Yeah, while Jongdae’s all bark and no bite,” Kyungsoo adds.

 

“Hey, hey,” Minseok intervenes, goodnaturedly. “Everyone has something to bring to the table. And, love works mysteriously.” With that, he and Baekhyun happen to catch each other’s eye, and they flash each other a small snicker. “Let’s take it once more from the head, before we call it a day.”

 

⁂

 

Friday night arrives in what seems like a blink of an eye. Baekhyun’s only performed with the group a couple times more after his first, but each time proves more of a success than the last. Now, it’s one of the occasions that he most looks forward to, and he loves sharing everyone’s excitement each time Yixing brings good news almost as much as the good news, itself. Gone are the days when he felt like a fish out of water among the boys, as he’s now an important cog in this machine, knowing every which way its gears turn, inside-out.

 

When he steps into the Itaewon Pub, he’s relieved to see Jongdae not looking quite as disheveled as he has over the previous few days. Minseok’s face breaks out into that spritely little smile upon seeing Baekhyun, and without fail, it makes that warmth Baekhyun felt that night they spent on the roof, return to him in waves. It’s always uninvited, yet never unpleasant, and Baekhyun has learnt to just let himself indulge in secrecy.

 

“Just in time,” Minseok says, looking over his shoulder to peer at the deck. “The guys before us are finishing up, this should be their last song.” Baekhyun nods, before looking around him, counting heads.

 

“Chanyeol, didn’t you come here with Kyungsoo?” he asks. Chanyeol’s brows curl up in worry, and he whips his head around as if he’s just come to the realization that Kyungsoo isn’t there.

 

“I did!” he insists. “He was here a few minutes ago, I don’t know where he went.”

 

“Calm down, he just went out back,” Junmyeon says. “I think he just wanted to warm up his voice. Can you go get him, Baekhyun?”

 

“Sure thing.” 

 

Baekhyun steps back out, scanning the area before he spots Kyungsoo, past the chain link fence lining the back corner of the bar. Baekhyun jogs up to him with a grin, hopping right in front of Kyungsoo to loudly announce his presence. “Surprise! Ready to be the star of tonight’s show?”

 

“Don’t say that,” Kyungsoo groans, leaning against the dirty brick wall, looking weak in the way a sheet of paper does in the wind. Like he could just fold in on himself, any second. Baekhyun tilts his head.

 

“Don’t tell me Jongdae got you sick,” he says, putting the back of his hand to Kyungsoo’s forehead. Kyungsoo shakes his head.

 

He mumbles, “I wish,” before going quiet again, hesitating. Finally, he says, “Baek, I don’t think I can do it. Is it the worst thing, if we don’t have a singer?” Baekhyun’s smile loosens, before it molds into a look of concern and sympathy.

 

“Oh, Kyungsoo.” He stands against the wall beside Kyungsoo, leaning his head onto his shoulder. “You weren’t actually going to flake, were you?” He feels Kyungsoo shrug underneath his chin.

 

“Not without letting you guys know, I’m not that horrible.”

 

“Well, enough of that,” Baekhyun says. “You sound amazing! What’s so different about being up there with your bass, than being up there, singing?”

 

“Everything,” Kyungsoo mumbles, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. I  _like_ being in the back, I like barely being heard. I like being the extra something, the thing people don’t know makes the music sound so good. I thought that I might be able to just get tonight over with, but…” He tips his chin up, bumping the back of his head against the wall as he shuts his eyes. “I don’t know how Jongdae does it.”

 

“It’s all in your head,” Baekhyun says. “If you really can’t, then you don’t have to. But I know you can.”

 

“So...I have to.”

 

“Yeup.” Baekhyun snaps his fingers. “You just gotta remember that no matter who’s watching, what we do on that stage isn’t any different than what we do in that basement, just getting into the swing, enjoying ourselves.” He smiles, remembering his first performance when he had been absolutely nerve-wracked, but pulled through thanks to Minseok’s comforting words. “Forget about being perfect, jazz isn’t perfect. Just do what you can; that’s enough.”

 

Kyungsoo seems to consider his words carefully, but it’s obvious he’s still not entirely willing. “It’s a lot of people in there, Baekhyun.”

 

“It’s really not,” Baekhyun says, but it still doesn’t quell Kyungsoo, who just averts his gaze and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then, an idea hits him. “Hey, how blind are you?”

 

“What?” Kyungsoo asks, finally smiling a little at the randomness of the question, and before he can answer, Baekhyun is sliding his glasses off of his face.

 

“Can you see me, clearly?” Baekhyun asks, taking a few steps back. Despite being a mere couple feet away, Kyungsoo squints, blinks slowly as his eyes adjust, before shaking his head.

 

“Not at all.” Kyungsoo then seems to catch on, and Baekhyun grins.

 

“Well, what’s so scary about a crowd you can’t even see?” he asks, his voice hopeful. He watches in anticipation as Kyungsoo inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth. And finally, a nod. 

 

“...Fine,” Kyungsoo finally says, the slightest hint of determination in his voice. “Let’s just do it.”

 

“Alright, Soo!” Baekhyun cheers, linking Kyungsoo’s arm in his own, and pulling him towards the doorway. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

 

When the two of them get to the stage, the others are already mostly set up.

 

“Good of you to show up,” Jongdae says as he jiggles the keys on his saxophone. Minseok just gives Baekhyun a knowing look, smiling when Baekhyun nods back at him. It’s something Baekhyun secretly revels and takes pride in, their silent form of communication, their unspoken ability to exchange stories with just a look, an expression.

 

He sits down at the grand piano, eyes locked on Kyungsoo, who looks so tiny as he stands his ground on the front of the platform, bathed in the spotlight. When the bar-goers quiet down a little with the understanding that a new group is about to perform, Baekhyun can see Kyungsoo’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, nervously.

 

In that moment, Kyungsoo’s eyes dart in Baekhyun’s direction, to which Baekhyun smiles encouragingly, tipping his chin up to motion for Kyungsoo to go on. To not be afraid.

 

Finally, Kyungsoo turns his stare back to the front, takes his glasses off, and lets them hang off his collar. With that out of the way, he speaks into the microphone, low and curt, “Hello. Please enjoy.”

 

With the hurried little intro that’s uncannily characteristic of Kyungsoo, Minseok gives a short chuckle before raising his trumpet to his lips, and starting them off with a delicate, dreamy melody, followed by the faint breeze of Jongdae’s saxophone and Chanyeol’s cymbal. When Baekhyun and Junmyeon join in for support, Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, tightly cradling the mic stand.

 

_“Stars shining bright above you… Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’_

_Birds singin’ in the sycamore tree… Dream a little dream, of me.”_

 

His voice drifts out even more sweetly and silvery than usual, and Baekhyun’s mouth instantly stretches into a proud smile as Kyungsoo’s aria entrances both him and the audience.

 

Once again, he looks up, but Kyungsoo is closing his eyes, lost in his beautifully mellow song and tuning out whatever’s going on around him that had made him so nervous. His shoulders aren’t so tense, now slack, his hands no longer gripping the mic stand in a chokehold.

 

With Kyungsoo successfully in his own world, Baekhyun instead catches the attention of Minseok, who glances up at him in between his little descants that hover protectively around Kyungsoo’s words. Even with Minseok’s mouth occupied, buzzing into his trumpet, Baekhyun can see the way his eyes narrow into smiling crescents, staring straight at Baekhyun, and only at Baekhyun.

 

And Baekhyun thinks that Minseok has rarely ever looked more charming, more enrapturing and alluring, and the bright smile he sends back is completely and utterly involuntary. Equally involuntary is the way his heart flutters within his chest, and the sensation of pure bliss that builds within him, only finding release through the touch of his fingertips to the keys of the piano.

 

For now, he blames it on the music that they’re making together.

 

_“But in your dreams, whatever they be... You gotta make me a promise, promise to me, you’ll dream…_

_Dream a little dream, of me.”_

 

⁂

 

Right now, Kyungsoo looks like his soul has left him and has long since entered another plane. Giggling at the way Kyungsoo is slumped in his chair, spent from all of the raw anxiety that has been eating away at him this whole week, Baekhyun rubs his shoulders and showers him with words of praise.

 

“You were amazing,” Baekhyun says, and Kyungsoo just makes a noise of acknowledgment in response, still not quite back down on Earth.

 

“He should get something in his stomach, before the adrenaline makes him pass out,” Jongdae says, stretching his neck up to peer over at the bar. “What’s keeping Minseok?”

 

Baekhyun cranes his head around to see Minseok chatting it up with Yixing and a small group of college students, presumably Minseok’s friends that came to watch. While Baekhyun can’t hear exactly what Minseok is talking so exuberantly about, he can tell from the pure confidence he exudes in his expression, his presence, his mouth that’s churning out five words a second and the onslaught of laughs from the whole group that result from it, that he’s the life of the party right now.

 

“This is new,” says Baekhyun, a bit impatient for Minseok to get back over here so they can celebrate, but not particularly against being shown a side of him he doesn’t see, often. He cracks a smile as Minseok tosses his arms around his friends shoulders, swinging to and fro and tossing his head back with laughter. “Is he drunk?”

 

“Oh, not yet,” Junmyeon says, looking amused. “I bet it’s his meds, they get him a little loose, sometimes.”

 

“He’s back on them?” Chanyeol asks, and Baekhyun tilts his head.

 

“On what? I didn’t know he was on any medication,” he says, and Junmyeon holds up a hand.

 

“He’s not, really, just takes a pill or two for when he has trouble sleeping at night.”

 

“I didn’t know sleeping pills do  _that_ to you.” Baekhyun can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Minseok take something before a performance or just during a lonely hour towards the end of the day, but none were ever really times he was about to sleep. Baekhyun supposes he wouldn’t know.

 

“Eh,” Jongdae says, giving a shrug. “Who can be sure. That’s all science, I don’t fuck with science.”

 

Eventually Minseok does come back, with a fresh grin on his fresh face and fresh beverages clustered in his arms. He apologizes in a spritely way for the hold-up, wasting no time sitting down and setting a drink down in front of each person.

 

“To Kyungsoo!” Everyone cheers as they raise their glasses, with Kyungsoo at the center of attention, rolling his eyes as he is showered with a flurry of pats on his back and shoulder rubs. With beer for Minseok, Junmyeon and Jongdae, cider for Baekhyun, Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol, they all clink their drinks together before collectively taking a swig.

 

“Who knew that in the summer of 1974, Do Kyungsoo would take the stage as our singer,” Chanyeol says with the brightest grin on his face, evidence of just how proud he is of his best friend.

 

“Truly, we could never have anticipated this plot twist,” Jongdae agrees, his voice still a little congested—which makes Baekhyun wonder if he should be drinking, right now. “Maybe I’ve got some competition.”

 

“Hell no,” Kyungsoo scoffs, shaking his head. “This is strictly a one time thing. If you ever get yourself sick again, I will kill you.”

 

“If Jongdae dies, you’re still first in line to replace him,” Junmyeon points out, and they all laugh at Kyungsoo’s frown. Junmyeon then gestures towards Baekhyun, “I think we also need to celebrate Baekhyun, the one who got Kyungsoo to agree in the first place—that’s a feat in itself.”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, flashing a small smile to his side at Baekhyun, who is more than happy to soak up the praise. “Thanks, Baek. I probably would’ve choked, if it weren't for you.”

 

“Any time. I’ll always be your number one fan, Soo,” Baekhyun winks, which prompts Kyungsoo to wretch.

 

“How the tables have turned,” Jongdae croons, leaning his cheek into his palm and shifting his eyes towards Minseok. He jokes, “You know, Minseok’s always telling us, ‘take care of Baekhyun’ whenever he’s gone. But looks like Baek’s doing a pretty good job taking care of the rest of us, instead.”

 

Baekhyun looks up, surprised, a little flustered, but undeniably pleased—all of which is evident in the way his cheeks slowly go pink. There’s a faint sheepishness in Minseok’s expression, which is exceedingly rare for him.

 

“Aw, you say things like that?” Baekhyun asks, his face far too small for the stupid grin that’s spreading on it. He leans his elbows on the table, coquettishly waves his fingers. “Kim Minseok, you don’t need to worry about little old me.”

 

Minseok just lets out a sound of dismissal as he downs the rest of his beer, ignoring the guys’ teasing for him and Baekhyun to just kiss, already.

 

They all stay in the bar nearly until closing, just talking and laughing uproariously. But even long after Jongdae’s statement has passed, long after they’ve moved on from the apparent fact that Minseok keeps Baekhyun in his thoughts much more than he lets on, it remains rooted, cemented into Baekhyun’s mind.

 

Perhaps it’s because throughout the night, no matter what’s happening around him and no matter who’s saying what, the sight of Minseok across that table is all Baekhyun really allows himself to see.

 

**⋯**

 

It’s a week later, when Baekhyun finds himself alone with Minseok in the basement during the late hours of the night. He and Minseok watched the store for Junmyeon during the latter half of the day, which grants the privilege of having the place to themselves after closing.

 

“What should we put on?” Baekhyun asks, holding up two covers.

 

“Chet Baker Sings,” Minseok replies without even looking up, making Baekhyun roll his eyes.

 

“I meant between these two. Well, then I’m making the executive decision and choosing Julie,” he says, crouching by the record player and inserting Julie London’s  _Our Fair Lady._ A slow, tranquil song drifts around the room, followed by a woman’s low, husky voice.

 

“You like the slow numbers, huh,” Minseok says with a smile, lethargically strewn on the couch and waiting for Baekhyun to join him. “Julie’s always romantic. Her vibe, the band, and that smoky voice she has.”

 

“Yeah. I’ve never been dancing, but,” Baekhyun holds out his arms to hold an invisible partner, and jokingly sways his body to the swing of the music, grinning. “This is what I’d imagine it being like.”

 

Minseok looks over at him, giving that coy little smile that’s still crooked in the most endearing way. “I’ll take you, one day.”

 

Baekhyun bites his lip through his grin, not even caring how obvious it is that he’s taking Minseok’s words to heart. “I don’t care that you said that as a joke, you need to do it now.”

 

“It wasn’t a joke,” Minseok swears, crossing his chest with his index finger. “I promise.”

 

“Perfect. Not one of those disco joints, either. 18th century ballroom, or nothing.”

 

“Okay, now you’re being a little unreasonable.” Baekhyun joins Minseok on the couch, and they just keep each other company, sometimes singing purposefully off pitch with the record in broken English, sometimes bickering over silly little topics like who out of Chanyeol, Kyungsoo or Jongdae would get married first.

 

“Kyungsoo’s gonna go to some prestigious college and get an equally prestigious job,” Minseok says, “and he can cook, you know how attractive that is?”

 

“But he can  _not_ talk to girls,” Baekhyun argues, “whenever he sees Joohyun, he just stares at the ground and starts mumbling, I can barely understand him! And he keeps to himself too much, a girl wants a guy who reaches out. Chanyeol, he’s a bit of a blockhead, but he’s sweet and will always want to go on adventures. And he’s as tall as a skyscraper.  _That’s_ what girls like.”

 

“Hey, you can’t turn down a person because of something they can’t control,” Minseok says in mock pain, placing a hand on his heart. Baekhyun smirks.

 

“I guess that’s true, I’ve heard you’re popular with girls...even though you’re the size of a bean sprout.”

 

“Interesting that you think you can talk, you weirdo,” Minseok hisses, and Baekhyun just shifts his eyes around.

 

“Do I hear something? It’s like a tiny flea is in my ear, tryna talk to me…” He bursts out laughing when Minseok starts tousling him around, and soon his laughs become shrieks, squirming around in his seat as Minseok tickles his sides and blows on his neck. “We’re both fleas, we’re both fleas!”

 

“That’s better,” Minseok says, settling back onto his side of the couch. In the split second of silence as they regain their place in the conversation, he takes notice of the crackle of the record player and smirks. “But, back to the riveting discussion of earlier, we can’t forget Jongdae. I mean, he’s the only one of all of us who can hold down a girlfriend.”

 

“He and Dahye are something,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head. “They’ll never get bored with each other, at least. Maybe Jongdae really will be the first.”

 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Minseok laughs. He continues listening to the track playing on the record, and huffs. “You know, they met in a taekwondo dojang when Jongdae was 16?”

 

“No kidding?  _Jongdae_ knows taekwondo?” 

 

Minseok snorts. “Oh, no, he quit before he even got his white belt. He only stayed as long as he did because it gave him an excuse to see Dahye—he finally invited her to one of our gigs, had this big plan to serenade her with this song playing, right now—” Minseok points upwards to gesture towards London’s tottering rendition of Wives and Lovers, floating through the air, “And when she looked into the lyrics, she gave Jongdae an earful for it, because it’s apparently sexist as hell. You should’ve been there, her getting on his case in front of everyone in the parking lot, asking if this is how he sees women, and him hiding behind Chanyeol and screaming that the lord knows he’s just a performer.” The story gets a laugh out of Baekhyun, who can see it perfectly.

 

“That’ll be something for that autobiography he’s always saying will be a bestseller,” Baekhyun says. “Does he have a plan at all for that, by the way? Or is he expecting to wake up one morning in 1980 and be famous.”

 

“Can’t say. Times aren’t the best here, for singers of all kinds,” Minseok shrugs. “He’s always wanted to find his own way to support his mom and Jongin. But in between the freight yard and the supermarket, there’s not much time for him to make a plan.”

 

“Yeah.” Baekhyun thinks about how tired Jongdae has been recently, working overtime to help pay to fix the leak in his family’s roof. “It’s Jongdae, he’ll figure it out. Chanyeol, too; maybe they’ll make it to Harlem, together.”

 

“They wouldn’t settle for anything less,” Minseok says with a nod. The record reaches its end, scratching out and leaving them in silence. But neither of them make the move to change it, both of them too comfortable where they are.

 

“What about you?” Baekhyun asks. “What do you want to do, after you finish school?”

 

Minseok hums, seeming to grow deep in thought. Finally, he concludes, “Not sure. All I know is, I could use a break from the city. Maybe I’ll make like a bird and fly away, somewhere.”

 

“How introspective,” Baekhyun muses. “You wanna get away from us, that bad?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Was it that obvious?” Minseok grins with his tongue between his teeth. “No, that’s not it. For a long time, I’ve just been wanting to do some...soul searching.”

 

“That’s fair, I guess,” Baekhyun says, “What would the group do without you, though?”

 

Minseok just smiles. “You guys don’t need me.” He then turns the attention towards Baekhyun, “What about you, Sunbeam? This is your last year of high school, isn’t it? You’ve got some big decisions to make.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Baekhyun says with a groan. “I have no idea. Joohyun’s dad said that I should apply for school in the States, since they have the money, and family there that could take care of the visa, and everything… But I’m content, here.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t write it off. Everyone’s flocking over there for a reason, you know,” Minseok says. He sees Baekhyun’s look of reluctance and chuckles. “I’m just saying. You should always keep trying to move up, Baekhyun.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Baekhyun clearly isn’t really taking it to heart. “Your rally speeches won’t work on me, you know.”

 

Minseok snaps his fingers. “Damn.” Baekhyun tosses his head back and laughs.

 

At some point, their conversation ends and they begin a little game, with Baekhyun making requests and Minseok fulfilling them on his trumpet.

 

“Okay, now go as high as you can, as long as you can,” Baekhyun says, and Minseok heaves a sigh.

 

“I’m gonna faint.” Nonetheless he deny Baekhyun his wish, putting his trumpet to his lips and breathing in deep. He squeezes his eyes shut, before a high A blares out of the horn, brassy and shrill, leaving a metallic taste in Baekhyun’s mouth as it echoes around the room. About 30 seconds pass before Minseok’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink and the sound becomes hilariously strained, and Baekhyun can barely keep in a giggle. When Minseok finally breaks the note to gasp desperately for air, slumping against the piano and exaggerating his exhaustion, Baekhyun’s boisterous laughter completely fills the room.

 

As Minseok catches his breath, he smiles upon seeing the clear amusement he’s brought Baekhyun. “Wanna try?”

 

Baekhyun must have immediately looked eager, like he had been waiting for the day he’d be asked this, because Minseok is already twisting off the mouthpiece, placing it into Baekhyun’s hands. “Here, just blow.”

 

Unable to mask his excitement for the unexpected opportunity, Baekhyun wastes no time putting the funnel-shaped piece of metal to his lips, and tries it. But he only succeeds in blowing air in from one side and out the other, and when he looks down at the piece with a disappointed little pout, Minseok, who has been leaning against the piano and watching intently, breaks out into a cheery little laugh.

 

“Put your lips together,” Minseok says, gently pinching Baekhyun’s upper and lower lip closed. “Teeth apart. Jaw just a little forward.” He tips Baekhyun’s chin forward, then lightly presses onto the corners of Baekhyun’s mouth to keep them flat against his cheeks. “Now try.”

 

Baekhyun does, and sure enough, with a little added effort that almost seems to twist at his belly and chest, a cute little buzz vibrates out from where Baekhyun’s lips meet the metal. Baekhyun’s eyes spark with delight, and Minseok beams.

 

“Just like that,” he says, reaching up to once again smooth his fingers against Baekhyun’s soft, pink lips. “That’s your embouchure.”

 

 _“Embouchure,”_ Baekhyun repeats extravagantly in a phony French (he thinks) accent, breaking out into a little grin. Minseok smiles at the sight of him looking so pleased, so proud of himself, and teasingly takes his chin.

 

“Yup. All in your chops.” Minseok lets go, taking back the mouthpiece and screwing it back onto the trumpet. “The reason I started religiously taking care of my teeth. You know, Chet doesn’t play anymore.”

 

“Because of the drugs?” Baekhyun asks, and raises an eyebrow in surprise when Minseok shakes his head. “Why doesn’t he?”

 

“Got all his teeth knocked out.” Minseok shows off a line of his front teeth, tapping his lips. “No teeth, no embouchure. No embouchure, no trumpet. And no trumpet...no music.”

 

“Welp. That’s depressing,” Baekhyun says. “It’s one thing to quit, but a different thing to not have a choice, anymore.” Even though he knows it’s all good and fun, Baekhyun thinks of how the guys joke about Minseok burning out just like his hero, his favorite esteemed trumpet player. A Minseok who can no longer play the trumpet, sounds like one that Baekhyun does not want to have to know. The idea is laughably unthinkable, at this point. It doesn't make sense.

 

“I’ll say,” Minseok replies with an amused little smile on his face, before he hands the now fully assembled trumpet to Baekhyun. “Okay, now for the real thing.”

 

“How do I even hold it?” Baekhyun murmurs, fumbling with the instrument, making sure not to drop it—or he would never hear the end of it, from Minseok.

 

Minseok steps closer to him, reaches around to adjust Baekhyun’s hold. He painstakingly places Baekhyun’s delicate fingers to properly hug the trumpet, the metal cold against Baekhyun’s skin in some places, warmer in others where Minseok’s previous touch still lingers.

 

The positioning of Baekhyun’s fingers is corrected, but Minseok’s hands still remain. Baekhyun feels himself grow tense at the sensation of Minseok’s hands still on his, with Minseok basically caging him with his arms. His back is nearly to Minseok’s chest, and he can’t tell whether or not the static that zips up his spine when Minseok speaks against his neck is real, or just his imagination.

 

“And then, you just go for it,” Minseok says, his fingers every so subtly finding their way into the spaces between Baekhyun’s. Baekhyun feels himself become short of breath, his heart pounding within his chest and pumping that familiar yet unbearable warmth through him, making him feel like he’s bound to overflow. But he finds it in him to inhale, then put his racing heart into use as he blows into the trumpet with his whole chest.

 

A crisp, full sound resonates from the trumpet’s bell, brightening the corners of the room and filling Baekhyun to the brim with the purest joy.

 

He grins wide, turning to look at Minseok with eyes gleaming with pride and amusement, with a matching laugh that floats from his open mouth. Minseok smiles back, with an approving nod.

 

“Beautiful,” he comments, and Baekhyun snickers.

 

“I’ll say. Better watch out, I could give you a run for your money.”

 

In the midst of his little tease, Baekhyun doesn’t notice Minseok step closer to him. It’s only when Minseok lowers the trumpet that’s still in Baekhyun’s hands, that his eyes flicker back to Minseok, curiously.

 

“Wasn’t talking about the note,” Minseok says, softly. “Although, that was great, too.”

 

 _Wasn’t talking about the note._ These words stick with Baekhyun, hot and heavy in his head, making his lips part and his eyelids lower as he’s met with, confronted by, Minseok’s enamored stare.

 

Time seems to slow in order for Baekhyun to allow himself to bask in this deafeningly tranquil moment, in which Minseok holds onto him, entrancing him with the deep pools in his eyes, when it feels as if they’ve become intertwined, so much so that even their breaths are the same. Before Minseok leans in, and Baekhyun is completely and utterly swept away by the tide that collides into him as their lips meet.

 

It’s cosmic, astronomical—not only when Baekhyun realizes that he is  _kissing_ Minseok, but also that Minseok is kissing him  _back._  

 

But the bliss, the waves of scorching heat and overwhelming thrill that have been building and crashing within him, all come to a sudden halt, replaced by a chill that makes everything run cold.

 

He backs away, having to tear his eyes off of the floor to come face to face with Minseok, who has absolute stars in his radiant eyes. But the light within his irises soon dim as he takes in the look of turmoil on Baekhyun’s face. It once again goes silent between them, or, it already was—but without the dangerous, addicting spark of the kiss, the quietness now looms over them in its wake.

 

“I’m sorry,” Minseok says after a while, clearly stirred-up in the face of what just happened between them. He takes a step back, to give Baekhyun a proper amount of space. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—damn. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“It’s okay,” Baekhyun breathes out in a stammer. Still unsure what to do, how to feel other than the fact that this is  _wrong_ and he shouldn’t be doing this, he hands Minseok back his trumpet. “Minseok, it’s fine.”

 

“No, Baek, I can see I made a mistake, I,” Minseok gives a dry little huff of his breath, “This is crashing pretty hard. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“No, I mean—I reciprocated.” It pains Baekhyun to admit, and he sighs underneath his breath. “It just happened.”

 

They stand there in stillness for a moment longer, before Baekhyun begins to look around for his bag. “It’s late, I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

 

“Sure,” Minseok says, equally flustered and putting on a shy smile. “Then I’ll see you...”

 

“Next week,” Baekhyun finishes for him as he makes his way to the stairs, saying the bare minimum of words that his churning stomach will spit up. He takes one last look at Minseok as his hand hovers around the banister, feeling a familiar ache that he never thought he would be revisiting. “Goodnight.”

 

“Night.”

 

He almost doesn’t let Minseok finish before he’s shutting the door behind him and running home, heading straight to his room to bury himself in his bed. He tries everything to convince himself that what happened tonight wasn’t real. But it was, it  _is_ real, if the way Baekhyun cannot stop touching his lips and reliving the scorch of his flushing cheeks is evidence enough.

 

⋯

 

Baekhyun stays in bed long after he’s woken up in the morning, remaining burrowed underneath his blankets to avoid the morning sun. Even when he hears Joohyun calling for him, he can’t bring himself to move a muscle, for the first time ignoring her and pulling the covers around him, tighter.

 

Her calls stop, leading him to believe that she got the message and assumed he was asleep. But to his chagrin, the door to his room clicks open, and in walks Joohyun with careful steps. He shuts his eyes, turns to face the wall, anything to keep her from seeing how disheveled he is. “Baekhyun?”

 

“Oh, Noona,” he says slowly, barely peeking out from the fort he’s made for himself. “What time is it?”

 

“Seven. Do you not have school?”

 

“No, I do. Guess I’m just a little tired.”

 

He feels the weight shift on his bed, and realizes Joohyun has sat down on its edge. “Are you feeling alright? You’re not sick, are you?” Baekhyun shakes his head, and Joohyun goes quiet before asking, “Is something else the matter? You don’t seem like yourself, this morning.”

 

Instead of responding, Baekhyun reluctantly sits up, smoothing down his bedhead and flashing a smile. “Myself?”

 

Now it’s Joohyun’s turn to smile. “Baekhyun, you’re talented in a lot of things—” She pinches one of his cheeks, “but faking a smile isn’t one of them. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you. But missing school isn’t the answer.”

 

“Hm,” Baekhyun huffs, unsure of how to reply to that, making Joohyun chuckle as she stands to leave.

 

She stops once more at the doorway to ask, “You’ll be out late at the music store today, right? It’s a Monday.”

 

He blinks, before shaking his head. “Actually...I don't think I’m gonna go today.”

 

She seems to hesitate, before giving a small nod, and backing out of the bedroom. He rubs the tiredness out of his eyes, trying not to think of the hot traces Minseok’s fingertips left on his face last night, before tossing aside the covers and forcing himself to stand.

 

He avoids the music shop for the next few days, showing up only briefly on a day that he knows Minseok has work, playing a quick couple of songs before announcing his leave, under the excuse of homework. Eventually that turns into skipping basement jam sessions for nearly a whole week in a row, all because he just doesn’t know what else he can do.

 

Part of him wants to believe that since it’s Minseok, they’d be able to continue on normally, as if their night alone in the cellar never happened. But the rest of him, through years of experience and fear, knows that it can’t be possible.

 

He kissed Minseok. Minseok, someone who’s already so important to him, who is such an important piece in their circle of friends that Baekhyun has managed to carve out a place in. Baekhyun, who is a boy, kissed Minseok, another boy. How did he even let this happen?

 

Thinking about it only gets him more and more agitated with himself, and now, he has no idea when he can ever bring himself to come back to Junmyeon’s shop. But to stop doing something that has started to come so naturally, that has become his routine for months, is even more detrimental than he could have anticipated. Without the boom and crash of their music to look forward to, Baekhyun finds it harder to get out of bed each morning, harder to drag himself to school and back.

 

He knows that he can’t keep this up forever, he knows that keeping himself away has become nothing less than agony. But when he finally breaks and allows himself to pass by the music shop on his way home from school one day, weeks since the night in the basement, his heart still lurches with alarm and regret when he sees none other than Minseok standing outside, having a smoke as he leans against the wall. As if he knows Baekhyun was bound to come sooner or later, as if he’s been waiting.

 

“Hey,” Minseok calls when Baekhyun is about to briskly walk by, in the futile hope that Minseok wouldn’t notice him. “Baekhyun.”

 

“Hey,” Baekhyun says lowly, giving a slight smile that, for once, Minseok doesn’t return. Minseok drops his cigarette onto the ground and grinds the light out with the heel of his shoe, looking unsure of what to say.

 

“Baek, can we talk?” he finally asks, and Baekhyun feels himself grow tense. The words he doesn’t want to hear.

 

“I’m really busy,” Baekhyun says, aimlessly fiddling with the strap of his bag. “There’s exams coming, and, you know.”

 

“Ah. Is that why you haven’t been coming?” Minseok says. Another cluster of words Baekhyun doesn’t want to hear. Baekhyun feels his face grow hot as he directs his stare towards the ground, the walls, anywhere but Minseok’s face.

 

He opts not to answer with words, just a tiny bob of his head. When he turns to leave, Minseok stops him.

 

“Everyone’s missed you.” Minseok says it like a declaration, loud and clear. He purses his lips, then, quieter, yet somehow louder with the way it resonates in Baekhyun’s head, he adds, “I missed you.”

 

Finally,  _finally_ Baekhyun brings himself to meet Minseok’s gaze, and like he feared, he’s immediately flooded with a myriad of unbridled emotions, uncertainties, and feelings that he has been desperately pushing down. His growing attraction to Minseok isn’t something he’s really been aware of, out of both the pure ease of which they’ve grown so close, and his own denial. But now it’s so clear, it’s grown exponentially with each day that they’ve gotten to know each other better and better, on a deeper, more visceral level. And he can’t keep up.

 

“Minseok…” Baekhyun keeps in a breath, being so, so careful not to slip up and say something he’ll regret. He decides that the best way to prevent this is to say nothing at all, and begins to step away. “I really have to go.”

 

“Baek,  _please,”_ Minseok reaches out for Baekhyun’s wrist, at first giving it a gentle touch with his fingertips, before retracting. “Will you just talk to me?”

 

They’re in public, is all Baekhyun can think to himself as his cheeks are set aflame and his eyes dart around the street. He releases his lower lip from where it’s caught in his teeth, uttering, “Okay, okay.”

 

Minseok looks inside the shop, before making a face. Baekhyun looks too, and is greeted by the cloudy sight of Chanyeol stuffing a whole baked sweet potato into his mouth and then grinning cheekily through his mouthful at a grumpy-looking Jongdae, who begrudgingly hands over some folded up cash. Minseok sighs, “Let’s talk elsewhere, somewhere away from...them.”

 

Baekhyun agrees, and they head over to the back of the shop, a small lot that’s covered in gravel, and where Junmyeon and Jongdae have their cars parked. Unsure of what to do and who should start, Baekhyun just stands there, arms folded reservedly against his torso as he keeps to himself.

 

Minseok takes the liberty, and says, “Baekhyun, if I came on too strong, or if you’re not interested in all that, I’m sorry. Just tell me and I’ll back off, you know that, right?”

 

“It’s not that,” Baekhyun says, before he finds himself exhaling. “Minseok, you keep apologizing when I, you know...kissed you, too.” The words leave his mouth heavily, thickly, coating his tongue in tar. Amongst the awkwardness of addressing what happened that night, though, he finds it in him to smile, sheepishly. “You try too hard to be a gentleman.”

 

“Hey. I just don’t want to hurt you,” Minseok says, his voice soft and unabashedly earnest. It makes Baekhyun immediately feel much more affected than he should, than he wants to be. “If you want, we can just forget it ever happened.”

 

“It’s not a matter of wanting to forget,” Baekhyun says, his own voice lowered to a hush, as if someone could be listening in. “I just don’t think we can, Minseok. We shouldn’t have done it, we’re both men, and…”

 

“Well, I can’t really do much about that, Baek,” Minseok says. “I can’t help that I’m a man and that you’re one, too. But I like you, I like you a lot. And if you happen to like me, too...can’t we try?”

 

Hearing those words come from Minseok’s mouth does something indescribable to Baekhyun, something that has his fast-beating heart lingering on that fine line between ecstasy and dread. His response gets caught up in his throat, as he chokes out, “Try  _what?_ Minseok, that’s not a good idea, it’s never a good idea. What would the others think…” He runs out of breath, and heaves a shaky sigh. “I didn’t even know you were gay.”

 

Minseok sticks his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. “Gay, straight, girls, boys... None of that really matters, to me,” he replies, and Baekhyun thinks that his nonchalance will truly be the end of him. “I like you, Baekhyun. But I just want to do whatever is best for you.”

 

“Stop,” Baekhyun says almost like a plea, “there’s nothing to do, or say. I can’t deal with this, not again.”

 

They’ve ended up right back where they started. Nothing is resolved, nothing is different from when Baekhyun had rushed out of the basement the night he and Minseok shared that tender kiss. Not even the way that Minseok is so careful, so attentive to Baekhyun, who is doing all he can to find an exit, even if it means turning a cold shoulder to Minseok’s feelings. His own feelings.

 

“I really have to go,” Baekhyun mumbles. But once again, before he can run from this suffocating conversation, Minseok finds a way to keep him anchored in place, for just a moment more, enough time to make his head spin just one last time.

 

“Will you at least start coming to play the piano again?” Minseok asks, in an almost pleading tone that Baekhyun has never heard from him before. It wrenches at Baekhyun’s insides, makes him want to shut his eyes as if he’s experiencing raw pain.

 

But he doesn’t say anything. Just goes.

 

⋯

 

Exams come and go excruciatingly slow, and Baekhyun isn’t even that upset when he scores averagely on them. The day that the rankings are published, he finds his name in the upper half of the list, and decides that he’s satisfied. When he glances at the rankings for the year below him out of pure curiosity, he eventually does spot Chanyeol’s name still in the lower register, but not as dangerously close towards the bottom as he expected. He huffs to himself, thinking that he must have really committed after asking Minseok and Kyungsoo to help him study.

 

It’s not the only surprise of the day. When school lets out that evening, he tiredly shuffles past the gates that bar the school yard off from the rest of the city, he suddenly hears a familiar tapping nearby.

 

Looking to his right, he feels his expression pull tight with surprise at the sight of Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, waiting by the iron gate. Chanyeol is tapping at the metal with his pencils, saying something that makes Kyungsoo laugh. That’s when Kyungsoo looks up to see Baekhyun, and smiles warmly.

 

“Hey, stranger,” Kyungsoo says as Baekhyun walks over. “How’d you do on your tests?”

 

Baekhyun holds up a hand flat to motion that he did so-so. “I’ve had better.”

 

“I can’t say the same,” Chanyeol says with a grin, tapping a pencil against his noggin. “This is the highest I’ve scored in my whole school career!”

 

“Yeah, I saw. Nice, dude.” Baekhyun then turns to Kyungsoo, “Your school had exams too, right?”

 

“Yeah. I did okay,” Kyungsoo says modestly, before Chanyeol rolls his eyes.

 

“Yeah, right, he was top of his class!” Chanyeol's pencils break at that point, and after pouting for a bit he tosses them carelessly into the nearest garbage can. Kyungsoo shrugs.

 

“Well, that’s not important,” he says, directing a hard stare at Baekhyun. “Now that exams are done, you’re free, right?”

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “I gue—”

 

“Of course you are!” Chanyeol says before Baekhyun can really finish answering, and before Baekhyun knows it, the two of them are linking his arms in theirs, and starting to pull him down the sidewalk. “And now you can start jamming with us, again!”

 

“It’s a drag without the piano,” Kyungsoo says as they walk at a comically brisk pace, dragging a wide-eyed Baekhyun by the arm. Baekhyun is in the midst of registering what is going on when it’s all happening too fast, but he can’t help but feel touched by the sentiment. “Even Minseok is in a funk, he just lays down on the couch and asks what’s the point, if you’re not there.”

 

“Really,” Baekhyun says, masking how much Kyungsoo’s words affect him. His heels scrape against the sidewalk as Chanyeol and Kyungsoo pace along as quickly as they can, and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, you two can chill.”

 

When they do reach the music shop that Baekhyun hasn’t seen in nearly weeks, settled between the same old laundromat and the same old bakery, right by the same old level crossing, he feels a strange sense of relief, as if it could have gone anywhere in that short time he’s kept himself away.

 

When Chanyeol and Kyungsoo usher him inside, his eyes are immediately drawn to the sight of Minseok, Jongdae, and Junmyeon at the counter, looking surprised to see him yet simultaneously like they’ve been waiting. Jongdae grins, and holds up a hand.

 

“What’s up, Mozart?” he asks. “Too cool for school, now?”

 

“It’s empty without you,” Junmyeon chimes in, clapping his hands together. “Now I can finally hear some beautiful piano, again!”

 

Baekhyun smiles, and is about to say something when he gets caught up in the fact that Minseok hasn’t said anything. The two of them catch each other’s gaze, and just give each other the same awkward, sheepish smile that’s barely there. Even the other guys notice this tight exchange, because Kyungsoo huffs through his nose.

 

“You two  _did_ fight about something, didn’t you,” Kyungsoo says, quirking an eyebrow up. Minseok and Baekhyun both tear their eyes off of each other, now sharing the same look of surprise.

 

“No, I already told you—” Minseok starts as Baekhyun begins to give his own word of protest. Then Baekhyun feels Chanyeol pushing him from behind, over to the storage room.

 

“You know the drill,” Chanyeol says, and before Baekhyun knows it, he and Minseok are shoved into the basement without any further word of instruction, just Jongdae commanding, “Work it out!”

 

With that, Minseok and Baekhyun are, once again, alone together in the makeshift little studio.

 

“You didn’t tell them anything,” Baekhyun says it more like a statement, a command than a question. Minseok knits his eyebrows together.

 

“Of course not.” He sighs, then walks across the room, where his trumpet case is lying on the floor. Baekhyun just watches him crouch down, undo the clasps with two heavy  _thunks_ that fill the room. Giving a silent sigh of his own, Baekhyun drops his bag and takes a seat at the edge of the piano bench, just watching Minseok.

 

Minseok pulls out and assembles his trumpet, before nonchalantly sitting down on the arm of the sofa, not saying anything further. Like he’s forgotten Baekhyun is in the room. That’s how it goes between the two of them for a bit, until Minseok starts blowing into the trumpet in small puffs, pushing the air through and warming up his lips.

 

 _Embouchure,_ Baekhyun then thinks to himself, remembering that night now more than ever, unintentionally letting his eyes focus in on the way Minseok’s lips meet the brass. Chops, not lips.

 

Finally, Minseok begins to play. It’s a hollow sound that leaves his horn, drifting through Baekhyun languidly, like a ghost. But it slowly forms something that resembles a tune Baekhyun recognizes well, blurry around the edges from Minseok’s improvisation, dragging some notes out and cutting some short.

 

The airy, blue sound finds its way under Baekhyun’s skin, as he absently taps his fingers against his thigh in an attempt to follow the rhythm that Minseok withholds from him.

 

Minseok is hunched over, eyes closed and still not paying Baekhyun any mind. And Baekhyun decides that maybe it’s better this way, to just be able to watch this spectacle unfold before him. There’s a faint itch that’s slowly growing, festering, as Minseok’s abstract lines begin to take a more concrete form and beat. Telling Baekhyun that it’s almost time to join in.

 

He licks his lips hesitantly, before he finally slides in his seat, and opens the piano cover. The sound of wood hitting ever so slightly against wood, the creak of the pedals underneath the ball of his foot, and the cold smoothness that greets his fingertips are all the things that start to make him feel whole again. He’s missed this. Minseok comes to a pause, a queue, and Baekhyun already knows that it’s his time to come in.

 

But Minseok doesn’t rejoin him, and when Baekhyun looks up with a furrow in his brow, he sees that Minseok is just sitting there with lax posture, his trumpet hanging down between his lap. Now he’s staring straight at Baekhyun, the corners of his mouth upturning into the faintest of smiles, so faint that Baekhyun wonders if he’s just imagining it.

 

 _“My,”_ Minseok sings before Baekhyun even realizes he’s singing, the note flowing out in a low, sensual hum.  _“Funny valentine… Sweet, comic valentine… You make me smile, with my heart.”_

 

Baekhyun feels his eyes widen, his mouth about to hang open before he catches himself. He can only keep glancing up at Minseok anytime he can between the chords he’s playing, his neck bound to grow stiff.

 

It’s a song he’s listened to countless times with Minseok, a song they both love—even Baekhyun knows the lyrics by heart. But it’s never felt quite like this, than to hear the strange words being sung by Minseok’s voice that’s equal parts fragile and temperate. All with Minseok gazing at him like this, intently, hell-bent on making Baekhyun crazy.

 

 _“Your looks are...laughable,”_ Minseok gives a teasing little smirk towards Baekhyun, who can’t help but break into a smile, rolling his eyes to himself.  _“Unphotographable. Yet, you’re my favorite work of art.”_

 

_“Stay, little valentine, stay.”_

 

Minseok stops there, lifting his trumpet back up to continue his serenade through his instrument. Baekhyun can’t decide which he likes better, Minseok’s voice or his trumpet, but continues to be his accompaniment, as they slowly waltz through their light yet serious, happy little sad song. Together.

 

They finish on a low note, before they both look up at each other, eyes and smiles bright and blazing.

 

“You’ve been practicing. Even when you haven’t been coming,” Minseok observes, and Baekhyun closes the piano’s lid. Before he can reply with something smart, Minseok says, “I’m glad.”

 

Baekhyun just keeps smiling to himself, looking down at the wooden cover of the piano as he senses Minseok approaching him. He feels a tingle zip up his spine when Minseok takes a seat next to him on the piano bench, and they just sit, for a bit.

 

Finally, Baekhyun says, “I’m sorry I started avoiding you. I just…”

 

“I get it,” Minseok says gently, but Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

“I know. You always get it, you’re some weird perfect dreamboat who’s so nice and patient with me, even when you nag and put me in my place, and that night I just froze up because...well, I’ve never had someone like you, who gets  _this_ part of me.” It’s a long string of words, but each and every one is necessary, Baekhyun feels. He glances at Minseok to gauge his reaction, who looks as understanding as ever.

 

“I got you, Baek. I’m not like any of the shitty people you’ve probably had to deal with, before.” Minseok then chuckles a little, propping an elbow on Baekhyun’s shoulder. “So, dreamboat, huh.”

 

“Of course that’s what you get out of that,” Baekhyun says with a roll of his eyes, hitting at Minseok’s chest with the back of his hand with no effort put into it, whatsoever.

 

“What can I say, my ears only exist to hear the truth.”

 

“My  _god,_ Minseok,” Baekhyun laughs, with Minseok following suit. He thinks that nobody else can get his mood to flip like this, so easily, so seamlessly. Which makes him think that Minseok makes him happy, which then makes him think that maybe, just maybe… He could let himself fall into him, since Minseok seems to be waiting, arms out to catch him.

 

Minseok’s elbow on his shoulder has smoothly transitioned to his arm wrapped around Baekhyun’s shoulders, not letting anything come in between them, just for this one moment. Baekhyun glances at Minseok, thinking that he can now see him in a new light—no, not new, not when Baekhyun has probably looked at him with stars in his eyes since day one. Minseok isn’t the one who changed, but Baekhyun.

 

“I think I know for sure, now,” Baekhyun says. Minseok gives off that gleam of curiosity in his eyes, not entirely sure what Baekhyun means. Baekhyun lets his eyes roam around, before poking Minseok in the chest, teasingly. “I like you, which, if I’m not mistaken, makes me pretty gay.”

 

If he thought Minseok was glowing before, the way Minseok lights up now, his exuberant laugh perfectly outlined by his gummy grin, is nothing short of ethereal.

 

“Well,” Minseok says, running his lower lip against his teeth as he barely tries to hide how giddy this makes him, “I guess when you put i—”

 

Baekhyun can’t help himself, and keeps Minseok from running his smart mouth with a kiss. It’s that thrilling, heart-stopping feeling of their first kiss, but without the guilt, without the fear. He runs his hands up Minseok’s back, clutches onto his shirt just to have something to hold onto with how thoroughly he’s being wrung from the inside out. He can feel Minseok smile through it, the curve of his mouth pressed against his.

 

This, Baekhyun thinks, is the only feeling he ever wants to experience from now on.

 

But before he can savor it in its entirety, the two of them are suddenly interrupted by the sound of the basement door opening. They pull apart, too slowly and too late, having been so wrapped up in the kiss that they were completely oblivious to the footsteps coming down the stairs, outside.

 

Baekhyun whips around, the taste of dread filling his mouth and replacing all of the sweetness, forcing itself down his throat and wrenching his gut. He and Minseok are both staring back at the doorway, where Kyungsoo is standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

If Kyungsoo had been kept quiet even for one second longer, Baekhyun would have felt like throwing up. But instead, Kyungsoo just says, “Did you guys make up? The rest of us wanna grab a bite.”

 

Baekhyun blinks. Did Kyungsoo not see? Before he can decide whether to grab onto what looks like a blessing in disguise or to address it, Minseok stands up. “Yeah. We’ll be up.”

 

Minseok is just acting natural, which is Baekhyun’s signal to do the same. Ignoring his racing heart, his pulse that’s throbbing in his ears, he grins at Kyungsoo. “Who’s treating?”

 

Kyungsoo squints. “You sound like you’re volunteering, who am I to say no?” With that he steps back over the entryway, looking over his shoulder. “Come quick, okay? We’re hungry.”

 

When Kyungsoo is gone, the door once again shut behind him, Baekhyun feels like he can melt into a puddle on the ground.

 

“Oh my god,” he breathes, carding a hand through his hair. “That was too close, Minseok—did he really not see?” Frustrated and anxious, he gives a low groan, freaking out even as Minseok calmly holds him by the shoulders.

 

“It’s okay, Baek,” Minseok says, but Baekhyun winces.

 

“How can it be okay, what if—”

 

“No what-ifs,” Minseok says, his hands moving upward to cup Baekhyun’s face. “We’re okay, Baek.” He’s grinning again, that reassuring little grin that tells Baekhyun, even in these conditions, that it’ll be alright. Baekhyun eventually breathes out all of the worry and the panic, and slides his hands to rest securely on top of Minseok’s. 

 

“We’re okay,” he repeats. Minseok’s smile widens.

 

“Baek?” Minseok then asks, as if they aren’t a few inches away apart, holding each other. Baekhyun gives a little smirk.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Go out with me.”

 

Simple as that. Baekhyun feels his eyes go wide, and he sprouts an incredulous look on his face.

 

“Huh?” Baekhyun says with a small laugh, feeling lightheaded, at this point.

 

“Go out with me,” Minseok says in a matter-of-fact tone, “why are you laughing!”

 

“Minseok, I’m just,” Baekhyun can’t even think straight, much less organize his words, “is that really a good idea?”

 

“In secret,” Minseok clarifies, and Baekhyun rolls his eyes.

 

“Well, duh.” He squeezes onto Minseok’s fingers that are still hot against his cheeks, in disbelief of what’s happening. “But, you’re pretty busy, with college and your job and everything, and whenever we do see each other it’s around the others and—”

 

“We’ll make it work,” Minseok says, resolutely. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of you.”

 

“I know,” Baekhyun says in a near whisper as Minseok slowly draws in, closing off the little space left between them. He snickers, “You better.”

 

“I will,” Minseok laughs. And then his eyes, voice, everything about him, goes impossibly soft as he asks, one last time, “Go out with me?”

 

With how enamored, how captivated, how absolutely hypnotized Baekhyun feels from everything Minseok is and has been to him, Minseok could probably say whatever he wants and Baekhyun would say yes, no matter how irrational or ridiculously high the order.

 

But luckily, this turns out to be one of the easiest requests Baekhyun could ever have the pleasure of fulfilling. He nods, and grabs onto Minseok’s collar to connect their lips, once more, thinking to himself that jazz truly is, and always has been, sweet, unexpected chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its here that i have to be honest and say i have no idea when part iii will be done but...,it will happen someday!! if you actually read this wow thank you..,u a real one.
> 
> My Twitter: [@minrimese](https://twitter.com/minrimese)


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